Sitting on the floor beside a hospital bed. Low hum and soft hiss of air. Nurses chatter, chuckle. Watching the blanket shift up and down subtly - as long as it doesn't still, things are okay. Breathing sounds change, heavier, then silent again. I think she's dreaming. What do dying people dream of. Teacups tinkle in the hall and bright sun beams through broken blinds. White skies and grey seas show through shivering slits. The cool dry air sits heavily on my skin. Caution. Warning. One of the only people that have been around your entire life may not be alive soon.
She sniffles in the bed, looking small, like a child.
Interrupted. Unfinished.
She died, but not for a few months after this. In her comfortable bed, palliatively cared for in her high quality aged care facility.
I did not see her as often as I could have. But she wasn't really 'her' anymore, and she hadn't been for a long time.
She was my Grandma and I loved her very much.
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