My grandma is in the very last stages of her life. It is hard to say, of course, but I can’t see that she will continue for more than a day or two. It could be hours. She is sedated now and unresponsive to touch. This is a blessing in some ways, because her breathing is accompanied by a rattle, and she sometimes appears to be trying to cough and struggling. It is disturbing to watch, but her facial muscles show no signs of agitation. The nurses have reassured us that she is relaxed and that the experience is worse
It seems I spend my life crouched in some cold kitchen with an upturned glass and a torn piece of card, trying to capture time as though it could still thrive, contained in an elegant dome of my choosing. Moments, shivering and rare, scuttle across the floor wishing not to be trapped nor admired by those who do not realise that these silver, suffocated things are ancient eagles soaring over empty mountains, wide wetlands that stretch in a shimmering curve all the way to the sky.