Dear Poppy,
You died about three years ago and as your granddaughter you probably expected me to be extremely sad. I’m very sorry but I wasn’t exactly devastated. You were old and sick and I didn’t know you all too great. We live way out here to avoid most of the family but you know all about that so I won’t go into details.
We have to wake up early because the first place left at six. Just a jump to Portland, then a six hour flight to Newark. It was terrible Poppy, like H*ll so I prayed for your soul. We spent ten hours there because some idiot kept delaying our plane. I mean we could practically see your house from the windows. Then another jump to Albany. I have three cold cuts. One at the second airport, one on the third plane, and one at your fourth daughter’s house. They were all ham.
Because plane tickets were so expensive we stayed in a cheap hotel. Aunt Barbara and the cousins stayed a few rooms down. We had cold cuts in the mini fridges.
The Elks put on a memorial service for you. Lunch and drinks. It was cold cuts. I had two because Mom burned the oatmeal for breakfast.
We spent most of the time with Grandma Ann at her place. Aunt Ann, your perfect oldest child, brought cold cuts to feed us all. Everyone was arguing over who got what so Zach and I left with Krissy, Jacqui, and Danny to Arianna’s house. Her boyfriend feed us cold cuts and secondhand smoke for dinner.
The funeral was really big. You would’ve loved it. Well, Dad thinks so anyway. The church bells were ringing and it was raining the right amount for a funeral. No doubt you were behind it. The old ladies kept mistaking Zach for Dad so we hid for most of it. They served cold cuts at the reception.
I've had plenty of cold cuts and no one seems to make them right.
They always buy sliced bread which despite common rumors isn’t all that great. You have to buy the sub kind where you have to cut off a big hunk of grief from bread. It’s good therapy.
They always only have turkey or even worse, roast beef. Mourners like variety. I like ham. Some choose silence, others tears. The uncles choose drunkenness which wasn’t too surprising.
They expect us to eat dry bread, never offering any condiments. Sorrow isn’t good dry, the bread needs to be soaked.
They hardly offer any vegetables. I don’t want to die like you, no offence or anything, so I try to stay healthy. But I avoid tomatoes. The ancients could’ve been right about them being poisonous. You ate a lot of tomatoes.
Love, Kylie or as Barbara calls me, Kylie Jo and you know what, I like it
P.S. I still put my coat on the way four year old me showed you, somersaulting into it when Kendall was born. We had cold cuts then too.
You died about three years ago and as your granddaughter you probably expected me to be extremely sad. I’m very sorry but I wasn’t exactly devastated. You were old and sick and I didn’t know you all too great. We live way out here to avoid most of the family but you know all about that so I won’t go into details.
We have to wake up early because the first place left at six. Just a jump to Portland, then a six hour flight to Newark. It was terrible Poppy, like H*ll so I prayed for your soul. We spent ten hours there because some idiot kept delaying our plane. I mean we could practically see your house from the windows. Then another jump to Albany. I have three cold cuts. One at the second airport, one on the third plane, and one at your fourth daughter’s house. They were all ham.
Because plane tickets were so expensive we stayed in a cheap hotel. Aunt Barbara and the cousins stayed a few rooms down. We had cold cuts in the mini fridges.
The Elks put on a memorial service for you. Lunch and drinks. It was cold cuts. I had two because Mom burned the oatmeal for breakfast.
We spent most of the time with Grandma Ann at her place. Aunt Ann, your perfect oldest child, brought cold cuts to feed us all. Everyone was arguing over who got what so Zach and I left with Krissy, Jacqui, and Danny to Arianna’s house. Her boyfriend feed us cold cuts and secondhand smoke for dinner.
The funeral was really big. You would’ve loved it. Well, Dad thinks so anyway. The church bells were ringing and it was raining the right amount for a funeral. No doubt you were behind it. The old ladies kept mistaking Zach for Dad so we hid for most of it. They served cold cuts at the reception.
I've had plenty of cold cuts and no one seems to make them right.
They always buy sliced bread which despite common rumors isn’t all that great. You have to buy the sub kind where you have to cut off a big hunk of grief from bread. It’s good therapy.
They always only have turkey or even worse, roast beef. Mourners like variety. I like ham. Some choose silence, others tears. The uncles choose drunkenness which wasn’t too surprising.
They expect us to eat dry bread, never offering any condiments. Sorrow isn’t good dry, the bread needs to be soaked.
They hardly offer any vegetables. I don’t want to die like you, no offence or anything, so I try to stay healthy. But I avoid tomatoes. The ancients could’ve been right about them being poisonous. You ate a lot of tomatoes.
Love, Kylie or as Barbara calls me, Kylie Jo and you know what, I like it
P.S. I still put my coat on the way four year old me showed you, somersaulting into it when Kendall was born. We had cold cuts then too.
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