My grandmother passed recently. I remember being viscerally angry as the undertakers carried her coffin. She wasn’t theirs to handle. She was my family. They didn’t know her. They just cared about the profit. She was my family, my memories. Mine. All I wanted at that moment was to get their hands off her coffin. Were it not for my tears I would have ripped them off of her. They were not her family, they did not know her, they did not grow up with her. They had no right.