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My brother and my nephew, CA

My grandmother died a few months ago. It wasn't sudden, but it was to me. I had missed her 90th birthday party, where I heard she was as I had remembered her—vivacious, happy. A short while later, she was diagnosed with an abscess in her liver and became bedridden.

I was going to see her a few months after her birthday. One of my cousins was to be married in LA, and the entire family would congregate there. I ended up going out to the bay area a week before the wedding to see my grandmother. She recognized me, but couldn't really speak and spent most of the time asleep.

At the wedding, we all felt her absence. Originally, I had been asked to escort her down the aisle. I had forgot this detail until the wedding began when I found myself milling about in the reception hall. She died the following week; the week after I was one of her pallbearers.

I took this photo of my brother and nephew at the funeral. My brother is wearing my coat; he hadn't brought a black outfit. My nephew was well-behaved. I'm not sure he understood exactly what had transpired, and I found myself wondering how I would have explained it to him.