Eulogy Examples for a Grandmother

My grandmother had a rule: nobody leaves this house hungry. In seventy years, nobody ever tested her on it and won. Gogo's kitchen was the parliament of our family. Marriages were approved there, report cards were judged there, and every argument in three generations was settled there — usually by feeding both sides until neither could remember the point. Her tea was strong enough to stand a spoon in, and so was she. She kept her money in a tin marked FLOUR, her important papers in a tin marked TEA, and her actual flour and tea wherever she liked, because the system was for burglars, not for her. She survived droughts, moves, the loss of Grandpa, and at least one government she referred to only as "those people" — and she did it all in an apron, humming. When I brought her my problems, she never once said they were small, even when they were. She would pour the tea, listen to the end, and say: "Now. Are we crying about it or are we fixing it?" Sometimes we cried. Then we always, always fixed it. Gogo, today we are crying about it. You would allow us this one. But tomorrow — tomorrow we start fixing it, all of us, in your kitchen, with your tea, by your rules. Nobody leaves this house hungry. Nobody leaves this family alone. Hamba kahle, Gogo. The kettle is staying on.