My Father’s Mother

The second time I lost my dad.

Photo by the Ana García LdeC (Author).

“I love you,” my grandmother said to me on her deathbed.

A list of the possible answers that went through my head:

• OK.
• Thanks (?).
• I love you, too.

“Oh, grandma,” I managed as I ran my fingers over her bruised forearm, her dried up veins. It occurred to…