I thought that once my grandmother passed away, so would I.
We would both be gone.
I would stand still while the earth rotates. [more]

The choir sang words that echoed those that my grandmother often shared, "My body got tired. I got to find a resting place. Every day is going to be Sunday, no more tears."

I viewed my grandmother’s body from the back of the church. The bind that held our family together was undone and laid to rest in a casket. What did that mean for my family? [more]

The nurse pulled back the curtains. I approached the hospital bed that held a mere form of my grandmother. Her shoulders were exposed. A white blanket cloaked the rest of her body. She looked like a skeleton.

The nurse said, "She won’t eat or drink."

It was difficult to look into the eyes of this frail failing woman. It was if we had never met. For as long as I have known my grandmother she has been like the Eiffel Tower, tall and made of tons of iron.

"Nana," I said. She slightly opened her eyes. "Please drink some water." [more]