Mourning can defined by one color: black. Tomorrow will be two years since my nonna (grandma in italian) passed away. She lost a long fight with alzheimer's. Today my family and I went to a church memorial service for her and I wore black.
Subconciously, I knew it was the "right" thing to do. Day to day I sadly forget that she's gone. It's such a routine every sunday going to the maoseleum to see her square to place her flowers.
Today, they said her name and I lost it. All of the memories flooded back like the tears that fell consequently. The Beatles' song Yesterday has been playing in my head on repeat.
Rest in Peace Nonna.
I still remember breading chicken with you and my braided hair.
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