The first night after Grandma’s funeral, I was in Grandpa’s room with her while Grandpa was asleep. I started noticing something strange when the nurse who had looked after Grandpa seemed afraid. ![]() It was rather sad to see that none of my cousins had stepped forward to take turns with us. Grandpa (and Grandma) had always been kind and loving to all of their grandkids, no exception. I had been in that house since I was little. At least we took turns in two: sometimes it would be my siblings or me with either one of them there.Īt first, everything was alright. Wanting to be a good girl, I said okay when my mother asked me and my siblings to stay there and look after Grandpa. A family member (or two, at least) had to stay there and look after him. Since he was living alone in his big house and also unwell, we needed more than a housemaid. In fact, he had been depressed when she was still ailing. When Grandma passed away, Grandpa was very depressed. ![]() To some people, I wish it were that easy. Perhaps you are wondering, “What for? Shouldn’t the past stay in the past?” How do I begin? I’ve been considering (and reconsidering) telling this story.
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