Tears

She gave me a tight hug that evening when I dropped in. I heard her crying when she called me two days before and my heart went out to her. I am a big softie and also a big coward.
Her son survived a bad accident and is recuperating. I pray for his recovery.

I pray too that my grandmother is comfortable. Her 94-year-old frail body should not be pricked with tubes, wound with bandage and tightened with discomfort.

I am not the best granddaughter in the world and I do not know if I would be able handle it when it comes, as I remininsce the times she scolded me for disobeying her or when she effortlessly sorted out my dinner menu during my terrible tantrums.

Is it not human nature to reflect during times like this, I believe so. The long conversations about ex boyfriends and the skeletons in the closet that she revealed to me at the kitchen table.

I cried when I left the hospital one evening thinking about these memories. I suppose again, is it not human to feel?

She was there when I was fooled into believing a stranger, she was there when I was missed the bus home from kindergarten. She walked me home from school and stayed up with me to watch The Love Boat.

I tear. I cry. I want to be there too.