They covered the precious mahogany coffin with a brown amalgam of rocks, decomposed organisms, and weeds.
It was my turn to take the shovel, but I felt too ashamed to dutifully send her off when I had not properly said goodbye. I refused to let go of my grandmother, to accept a death I had not seen coming, to believe that an illness could not only interrupt, but steal a beloved life.
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And as I began to consider my future, I realized that what I learned in school would allow me to silence that which had silenced my grandmother.
However, I was focused not with learning itself, but with good grades and high test scores.You have your ironed briefs for your businessmen, your soft cottons for the average, and hemp-based underwear for your environmental romantics.But underwear do not only tell us about who we are, they also influence our daily interactions in ways most of us don't even understand.Upon our first meeting, she opened up about her two sons, her hometown, and her knitting group--no mention of her disease.Without even standing up, the three of us—Ivana, me, and my grandmother--had taken a walk together.When my parents finally revealed to me that my grandmother had been battling liver cancer, I was twelve and I was angry--mostly with myself.They had wanted to protect me--only six years old at the time--from the complex and morose concept of death.For example, I have a specific pair of underwear that is holey, worn out but surprisingly comfortable.And despite how trivial underwear might be, when I am wearing my favorite pair, I feel as if I am on top of the world.However, when the end inevitably arrived, I wasn’t trying to comprehend what dying was; I was trying to understand how I had been able to abandon my sick grandmother in favor of playing with friends and watching TV.Hurt that my parents had deceived me and resentful of my own oblivion, I committed myself to preventing such blindness from resurfacing.