I am one grandsons of Jean. Noah Vanderlaan, be mine name.
I had some words I had written for the funeral before it happened, so I'll write them here.
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I don’t know what or why she had to go, as much as I think it’s a freak accident, but we mourn the loss of a woman who took care of all of us.
Starting up to this day, at first, there is still a shock. There is still a hole you’ll all feel, and, as much as I still feel like a hole is missing in my heart, like my heart was ripped into a million pieces, but, there is a part of me, she’s gonna watch over us all.
I feel worried for my grandfather, for he is trapped in a box that she decorated, that she and he lived in for years, because my Nana, resting as her body lay, has left her wonderful husband.
My Papa, whom she loved, will be there always, in mourning, in his smile, as she was his guardian angel, and will guide his path until his time comes to her.
I know it’s a lot to read, and there’s a lot of things, you’re going to forget or need reminders on. But, I want to hope there will be hope, and respect for the dead, for there was not a single level of hatred that gives a meaning of she cared for you that she didn’t leave behind, Papa.
She was the person who got me these clothes, got me where I am today, someone who I talked to about my faith and problems with politics. When I was a kid, my grandma, or as I called her, “Nana” had taken care of me when my mother had birthed me.
She and him had been to all of my school events when others could not be.
She got me my clothes, those of which I am wearing today, my last memory is that she cleaned my room, then promised to give me a haircut. Thank you for everything, Nana."