She

She stood at the gates, with a smile on her face as I got out of the car and called. The signs of age were distinct, but not any different from what I remember. Until I entered the house, and felt my heart tear at the sight of a walking stick near the door. It felt like another milestone in her life to me. She never needed a walking stick before this. She always seemed so strong and agile for someone her age.

Sitting me down beside her and cheerfully nattering away about grandaunts and granduncles, I felt another stab when I realised she had difficulty hearing my voice. Another first. I can't remember if tears threatened my eyes, nor could I remember much of the one-sided conversation we had. Only the silent mourning inside of me as I observed her aged features, and the unspoken thought that keeps me awake many nights.

"大妈" (dui ma) is what I call her in the Foochow dialect, as do many of the young ones in my extended family do. She is, after all, my beloved great-grandmother.