Juxtapose

Time that never allowed us to see ending points is used up faster than we could ever imagine. Sometimes I'm not really sure why I'm crying and where the tears fit in anyhow.

There's a lot of love, though, the achings of the past and the sadness of the present squelched by the sweetness of remembering why she's so special to me and how I knew her all these years. Eating on her living room floor in front of the television, Sundays over at her house and a few days in between, seeing her wash the dishes in the kitchen and feeding us when we walked it, watching her go upstairs to change out of her housedress, open the closet, put on her lipstick in the little round mirror inside, and walk down to the store around the block with me. These little vague treasures.

Life is here, then so quickly it is gone, the pink fading to sallow yellow, existing only as the vapours of memories. This is the end of a slow, six-year death that we've watched with all flavors of emotions and, for the record, let it be said: She was a really great Yiayia.