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When I was young, I actually thought I loved you more than my mother. To others, you were just a nagging old lady. But to me, you were an angel. An angel in the form of a grandmother, who loved me like her own daughter, probably even more so. I get excited whenever I'm on holidays because I get to go to your house. Your house felt more like home than mine ever did. And when holiday is over, I'll cry on the way home. It seems childish now when I think about it, but, at that time, it felt like the right thing to do. Years passed and you still loved me more than ever. I often wondered if it's even possible to love someone that much. But you continued to astound me more and more every day. Soon, the days I spent at your house became lesser as I had my own responsibilities to fulfill. Whenever I leave your house, I didn't cry anymore. I'm a 19 year old girl now. Big girls don't cry that easily, so I thought. Later, visits transformed into phone calls. Hearing your voice will make me feel better. You are the only person who can bring out the best in me. Not even my mother can do that. I'm always a different person when I'm with you. A better person. And so, when I heard the news that you are sick, I prayed hard. I prayed that you will get well soon. I prayed that you can walk again. I prayed that you will be the same grandmother that I grew up loving. But you changed. You grew thinner until you were only skin and bones, you couldn't eat that much anymore, you couldn't walk without other people's help. But, your love for me never even wavered for a second. And so, I prayed. I prayed that my grandmother should live longer than me. I prayed that she should stay alive no matter how much her health is deteriorating. I just couldn't bring myself to pray for her death just so she could be free of all the pain and insults that people threw at her. Was I selfish? Did I not love her enough? I could only watch as she was slipping away. I was so sure that God won't be cruel. He can't just take away people that we love the most from us. But he did. My grandmother died when I was busy volunteering at an old folk's home for a project. The irony is uncanny. I felt like it was some kind of God's private joke. I thought she was safe with my family. But she was't safe from God's plans. I wasn't safe from God's plans. I felt like dying. I couldn't eat. My body ached and I wanted nothing more than to follow her and leave everything behind. But I couldn't. I see her in my mother, I see her in my sister. My grandmother would have hated me for leaving my family behind. She would want me to be stronger. Stronger for all of us. It's been 9 months now. But I can't stop the tears. Because it seems like the right thing to do.
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