Miracle

Whistling metal kettle with black handle emitting steam on lit gas burner

If I hadn’t known what had transpired, I wouldn’t have guessed, judging from the lack of any appearance of injury to her lap. It made no rational, naturalistic sense. All was well, as if it always had been.

Dying Well

Contrasted with many of us who do our best to avoid the subject of death or thoughts of it, especially the inevitability of our own, my grandmother faced it bravely, even with anticipation.

Ashes

Relief commingled with grief choked in my throat, as I held back the bitter emotions when she spoke the long-expected yet unwelcome words. “It’s over. He’s gone.”