I am glad that you died.

The air felt too thick, December cold, cold enough to make the breath visible and the concrete pathway frozen, people slipping, embarrassed and angry. Flushed cheeks from crying for hours, unblinking eyes now just staring into nothing. People passed by the hall to enter the living room for the wake held for the lady of the house, ignoring her as one ignores a ghost, too scared to disturb her state of numbness.

Swan’s grandmother, her sole immediate family member and legal guardian. A father, a mother, a grandparent, a nurse, a friend, who suffered from leukemia for a little over 8 years. At her old age, most who were aware of her condition were surprised by her will. What was the source of her strength to fight as a woman in her seventies? Her world, of course, Swan. The living oath of her dead daughter, who passed away together with her husband 22 years ago after a car crash while rushing to catch the flight to visit China, a trip overplanned and overly exciting. Never to experience it.

Swan, only 7 at that time, miraculously survived. Ever since then, she was in the care of her grandmother, who cooked her delicious food, treated her when she caught the flu, showed up at her school recitals, and read her a bedtime story whenever she missed her parents, especially as, little by little, the memory of their faces was becoming blurry.

The presence of Grandma was too strong to ever ignore, a proud, outrageous woman, standing up for justice no matter who needed to be confronted, and too proud to ever refuse to lose her independence. “I can see perfectly fine,” she insisted whenever Swan pleaded with her sweet grandma to get glasses.

Her absence was even stronger to ignore.

Swan’s head was spinning while trying to prepare for the eulogy, staring at a blank piece of paper. First, she remembered all the good times - the loud laughs, the morning walks, the countless brunches, the movie nights, and holidays. Then, a memory popped, grandma coughing aggressively for hours, enough to visibly hurt her. Swan shook her head, as if trying to shake off that hurting thought completely. She tried to think of something else, more positive.

“School. Yes, we have plenty of good memories together there,” she said to herself silently. But, while trying to find a good one, the image of her grandmother passing out during her graduation showed up. The beginning of the end. “Heatstroke,” doctors said initially. Not quite.

The loop continued. While trying to find a good memory, she was countered with a bad one. And it was not only the fact that she was tragically ill, her grandmother put on a confident facade during the day, holding strong for the girl to prepare her for the world. But when the lights turned off, and everyone went to bed, she was scared. Swan would sometimes go check on her grandmother, slowly creaking the door open, hearing her silent cries and prayers.

Swan lost her mother, but Grandma lost her daughter.

Oh, how she missed her dearly. Surprisingly, Grandma was never reluctant to speak about her and her son-in-law at any given chance. “Such kind souls don’t deserve to be forgotten, I can talk about them for hours,” she’d say. And Swan appreciated it. Now, it was time to speak about Grandma, and she wanted to be truthful.

Swan gathered herself, slowly stood up, and straightened her black dress. She looked in the mirror and tried to make herself more presentable, fixing her curly auburn hair, as her grandma always advised her to never look like what she was going through. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, “I can do this,” she comforted herself.

Slowly, Swan passed through the crowd, and everyone turned silent. She took the center.

“Thank you to everyone for being here. I believe that most of you are not surprised, but perhaps are feeling a little conflicted, possibly guilty over my grandmother’s death. She was a great woman, to no one’s surprise. A gentle yet fierce woman, a helping hand, a shoulder to cry on, and always feeding her guests until their stomachs popped,” gentle laughs were heard, along with a few soft cries.

A gulp formed in her throat as a memory of being scolded whenever she missed breakfast showed up. Swan did her best to ignore it.

“...most of you gathered here are her friends; friends from work, friends from her charity work, and our neighbors. I know for a fact that she would be utterly joyous if she saw her most beloved people together in one place. She loved hosting - dinners, tea parties, barbecue days - because that meant she could share the love with all of you. Eating hearty food and seeing one another, that was one of the things that made her the happiest.

And, at the risk of sounding too arrogant, forgive me for saying that the thing that made her the happiest was me…” Everyone nodded in agreement, all paying attention with care.

“...Grandma was my rock, and I was hers too. Our bond is too strong, spiritual, if I could say. I say is because Grandma will forever live, she will find a way to see me, she will show up in my dreams. It won’t be the same, and for that I am grateful…” Some in the living room were confused about where she was going with it.

“...my grandma finally is together with her daughter and son-in-law, my parents. And most importantly, she won’t suffer anymore. All of you were aware of her pain, and all of you tried as much as you could to show up for her in different ways; a car ride to the hospital, helping her with her groceries, or simply visiting her. And for that, I am beyond grateful.”

Another quick scan of the room, another deep breath, but her voice creaked, betraying her, a cry desperately trying to escape. Swan paused for a second, shutting her eyes hard, coughed a little, and proceeded.

“Unfortunately, that was not enough, as her soul suffered too much. Love not being received by the specific person you miss, we call it grief, and as much as she hid her tears, grief showed up loudly, as if saying, do not ignore me, let others see me, the grievance, not just the yearning. The illness was not kind, too rude and too disrespectful to an elder. She needed her sleep to rest, but coughing blood had different plans. Grandma fought it tooth and nail, for me. See, I have all of you, but I have no other family. Tonight, I will be going to bed alone, and I am glad I do so.

My grandma fought so much that it pained me to see her in pain. It angered me, the strong woman now a little too quiet, not so herself. I didn’t want that to be my last memory of her. I love her more than life itself, I would switch places in a heartbeat if I could. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer anymore.

Today, she rests, finally. God, I am so glad I won’t hear her broken cries any longer, she didn’t deserve it, none of it. I will miss her like the moon misses the ocean’s tides, I will cry forever for her, and I will keep her memory alive, as long as I am alive,” right when her speech ended, tears started flooding. She held on stronger, longer than she thought. She did it, of course she did, Grandma’s teachings lived through her.

Gentle claps were heard while Swan’s friends rushed to hug her. Later on, they tried fixing a plate for her as she hadn’t eaten since last night. If Grandma saw her, she would definitely get scolded, she thought.

“Forgive me, my dear, but allow me just tonight, this is your wake, let me resent that you’re gone while being grateful that your ache ends here,” Swan thought to herself as she went to the balcony and lit a cigarette.

Tonight, she will sleep in her grandma’s room, reading herself a bedtime story.