The Week My Grandmother Died
I screamed at my mum to get the car, and carried my grandmother down the stairs.
I prayed for the first time in a over a decade, to a god that I don’t believe in.
I muffled violent sobs with a beach towel in the back yard. I did not go to the beach.
I consoled my mother outside a public restroom, in rural Spain, in the middle of the night.
I heard my grandmother wheezing every time I closed my eyes.
Family members fought to feed us. We ate roast chicken all week.
I saw my granddad cry for the first time in my life.
Our flight was three hours delayed and when we landed it was too late.
A doctor said that if we had rang an ambulance, she may have survived.
I did not cry at the funeral. I did not feel I had the right.