I was in the village recently to say goodbye to my grandmother. I went to visit her in the morgue, where she lay in a fridge with strangers. She wore a small smile. Maybe even a triumphant one.
She seemed smaller, because death not only shrinks you but diminishes you. I wonder if Einstein was right about energy being transformed into another form, and if she could, in a way, hear my thoughts telling her that I won’t bury her because she will live in me with my mother, and that she journeys on to whatever it is that was promised to her.
