I think about this now, sitting beside her bed, listening to the difficult machinery of her breathing, and I find myself revisiting some of the memories I had filed away as childhood grievances. .. Age has a way of returning old memories to us with their labels removed.
I remember my grandmother by a lot of things, and when I picture myself in old age, I see myself in her image. Tall, lean, with a slightly curved back, a head full of gray hair that tangles and covers my eyes when being loose. Rheumy eyes set on a dark lean face, hands that are ever generous, and a serious demeanor that resets naughty grandchildren back to their default setting.