different flavours

a stranger emails me about my grandmother’s estate. I read her last will and testament in her second language. there is a clean allocation for every asset that survives her and it all fits easy on one page: whatever was her own is left to those she left behind. it’s strange to read a life reduced to a delegation of material possessions. the language is sterile and complex and I can’t move past the point of wondering how much of it she would have understood. the last time I saw her she couldn’t remember my name, though she knew how to laugh and dance and that she loved me more than I could understand. she leaves her grandchildren a gift and I feel helpless with no choice but to accept the ending of her chapter rolling on into my own. guilt comes in different flavours. I wish I called her more.

someone I love holds me close on the phone. we listen to each other and do our best to close the distance with concern and words we mean. we talk about where we’re going and why we want to change. she cries and I wish my words could be more than a bandaid. off the phone I try to focus on tomorrow. my eyes are always heavy but I need to work and learn to think again. the thoughts are knots I never learnt in school that might have kept the boat from sinking. I tell myself to get more sleep and drink less tea tonight.