funny, the ways we hold onto people
I teared up today when I couldn't fix my grandma's whisk as I washed it. I'd grabbed it during the glorified looting that happens after every one of us dies. We cooked together often while I was growing up. I took a photo and kissed it before I put it in the trash.
Her namesake is up in her crib crying instead of napping.
It's like she knows. She's still slipping away, bit by bit.