Untitled--10.

10. 
I had hoped we did not need to talk about this because I had hoped we could let is pass silently. A ritual between just us. No one would have to know. At the most sacred sites, they have let the dust blow it away. But you were wife and mother, and those praises are too often unsung. That is why people should know about this. But why must I have to justify that? Any life is worth knowing. Still, I had hoped that this could be our secret.

With Ticu it felt strangely organized. Three months. Go here, do this, then this is the next action. This time, my mother stares, bleary-eyed. It’s as if time has gone away from all of us. We review names and relationships. Is that what woman’s worth is at the end? You are Doina. I am not, in fact, your daughter. I am your granddaughter. That is your daughter. Your other daughter lives far away. I often think that she was so sharp for leaving as she did. This family can get suffocating sometimes. I want rest, too. I have not cared for you sufficiently.

You watch old Jimmy Stewart movies and fear-based news. Do you know what’s going on in those movies? Are they some trigger for things you already remember deep in the recesses of your mind? I want to know how memory works when I’m around you. I know that sometimes people fill in the blanks because they don’t know what else to put there. That is why our relationships have changed, why we all got new titles. We keep the time by important activities—bodily functions, the ticking of your kidneys.

But the time is changing and I will be here again later with someone else. How and why did I decide to do this again? Nobody decides to die. They just do. It can be rapid or it can last years, as it did with you. I don’t want to think about how I may need to do this alone. I will be here with other people, surely. Get some rest, I know you want to sleep all day now. I will miss you, but you have to go soon. And I do too.