I'm sorry to hear that. I remember when my Great Grandma died. My Dad's mother's mother. She was the most special person in the family to me. She was the last one with an accent other than me, who was alive. She moved to British Columbia, from Buffalo New York (think Tony Danza) and her parents were Irish. You all know what accent I have. After she passed on, I felt like the one with the accent, (Cockney of course), living in a gene pool of cellphone speaking newscasters, with the dull TV accent that my parents wanted me to have, as well. I was nineteen at the time, and my idiot cousin thought it would be a good idea to give me a speech lesson at her wake. I'd go back and stick it to him, for sure. That's when I started to rebel and started buying the London Routemasters to piss the Canadian Elitists in my family, who thought that I should be molded after themselves, off. I was nineteen and I've just lost the second last person in my family to speak with an accent. I told my mum, "This is what goes on in my mind, and I'm not losing my accent." That was the year that I became my own person. I had to, because my all understanding Great Grandmother was no longer alive.
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The Family Enigma