Cheyenne Berandi
For the Living, Not the Dead Cheyenne Berandi Eulogies are bullshit. No one says what they want to say. They say what they’re expected to say. They say what will help everyone else feel like it’s okay to move on. That’s what I’m doing now, and not a word of what I’m saying comes from the heart. I want to say how I would trade places with him in a heartbeat. How I don’t want to live another day without him. How the four years I got to spend with him were the best of my life. How I don’t know how to survive another day without him. But instead, I hold most of my tears at bay and stand in front of my family and friends, speaking about how I’ll live every day for him, because he doesn’t get to, and that isn’t fair. I want the things I’m saying to be true, but they aren’t. I say, ‘I’ll never forget your smile.’ But I know I will. I know that years from now when I picture his face I won’t really remember it. I’ll know what he looked like, from photos and descriptions I’ve repeated to myself, but all the real memories with him will fade until I can’t see them clearly anymore, and even though I’ll think I remember them, I won’t; not really. I’ll only remember that I love him, but I don’t want that. I don’t want to forget. Tears I’m helpless to stop run down my face, but my expression is cold. My voice cracks and strains as I fight hard to say the words
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