Once, on a very sad day, I sat on a hospital bench, after
running away from her room. And I cried, because I couldn't
be alone with her, couldn't touch her, couldn't kiss her
goodbye. And all I could see in my eyes was her head. No
glasses, no handkerchief. Her mouth was opened. That look of
hers, I cannot remember now, I can just remember the things
that frightened me. And I cried.
An old lady sat beside me. Don't cry, she said. You're
young, young people don't cry. I heard her words. I did not
think about it. I wished she would disappear. I just wanted
to cry. Alone. On the hospital bench.
So I kept crying, ignoring her. Don't cry, young people
don't cry, she kept mumbling. Stop it! I thought. Please,
stop it. I need to cry! I just saw her dead! Laying dead on
a hospital bed. With her mouth opened, as if trying to say
something.
She did not look like herself, I thought. That's not the
woman I know. Not the one who used to buy us circled colored
chewing gums. Not the one who stood by the door every
Saturday when we've left, late in the evening, waving
goodbye, breaking my heart.  I always wondered what it was
like, being alone for so many years.
Now she's just a body. Lying on a hospital bed.
Don't cry, young people don't cry.
Finally, I looked at her. She seemed so fragile. Small and
fragile.

WISH YOU WERE LYING THERE INSTEAD OF MY GRANDMOTHER!




Back home, thinking about this thought, I hated myself.