I want to write an obit for my grandmother’s funeral.

But I have no idea how to do it. 

My grandmother’s name was Carrie and she died of lung cancer at the age of 57 in 2008.

I have always been fascinated by how she died, and how she was able to continue living, even after her cancer was diagnosed. 

In 2008, Carrie had a terminal diagnosis of lung sarcoma. 

She was a devout Catholic, and she didn’t have much money.

She was a single mother of four. 

The first thing she did when she woke up was wash her face and put on a gown.

She had a plastic cup in her hand and she had been drinking a lot of coffee at that point.

She’d been drinking all day. 

I don’t know how long it took her to get to the hospital, but she said, ‘I’ve got to get a cup of coffee.’

She had some coffee, and then she went out.

She went into the back room, and there was a small table, and the doctor said, “Do you have any coffee?”

And she said no. 

It was a very difficult time for her, because she was in her final days, and that was the worst time. 

As I remember, the doctor told her, ‘You need to have this cup of water.’

And she went, ‘No, I need to take the water.’ She said, “I’ll have to get the cup.”

And she took the cup.

And she just went in. 

They had a couple of cups of water, and they put it in her water bottle. 

At this point, she was having some lung problems, so she put a couple drops of her blood in there.

She drank the whole cup.

She didn’t want to drink more. 

But she was so thirsty, so they took her off the table and put her on the table.

She sat down and she was cold. 

There was nothing else they could do, so the doctor put a plastic bag over her head and they tied a harness around her neck. 

And then the doctor was holding the bag.

And the doctor started putting the mask over her face, and he was taking her temperature.

And they put her in the chest. 

He had her breathe on her chest, and his chest was hot. 

So they had to put her into the chest and put a blanket over her.

She lay there for about 10 minutes. 

Then they put a towel over her and put the bag over the blanket.

And then they put the mask on her face. 

We were in the hospital for five days. 

Once she was stabilized, she went into a hospital bed, and it was like her last breath. 

Her doctor said to me, “Carrie, you need to go home.”

She said she was not ready for her family.

She said that they could not have her. 

Carrie had just started taking morphine, which is a drug that is given to people with severe cancer.

She needed to stop. 

Even though they were taking her morphine, she had not stopped.

She took the morphine, but they said, I don’t want you to take any more, you don’t need to stop, you’re just going to have to be careful with this medication. 

“She was very tired, and I didn’t know if she was going to be able to breathe on its own.

And I thought that maybe she’d just pass out, and if she passed out, I’d be able go back to work.

So she got into a taxi, and a taxi driver took her back to her house, and Carrie was very, very upset. 

That was the last time she spoke to me. 

‘I’m just not feeling well,’ she said. 

After I left, she called me, and told me, ‘How do I do it?

Do I need a funeral?

Or is it OK for me to do my own funeral?'”

Carrie’s obit said: “Her story is that she was an avid reader, and enjoyed literature.

She loved reading and reading in her spare time.

She wrote poetry and novels.

Carrie had an affinity for the outdoors and nature. 

From the time of her diagnosis until her death, she loved nature and her family, and was an active participant in the community. 

When she died on December 21, 2008, her friends and relatives gathered at her home, where she laid her final resting place. 

According to the obit, Carrie’s loved ones remembered her as a loving and caring grandmother, who was always there for her and her children, and who enjoyed reading. 

To learn more about the obits of other loved ones, visit the Smithsonian.