The day before my grandfather died, the day before christmas, he was laying on the couch and i sat on the floor beside him to hold his hand.

I looked at him, and I could see the shape of his skull so clearly through the translucent skin. And I thought, oh. That’s why artists practice drawing skulls. But i wouldn’t need to know how to draw a skull to draw a portrait of him, because it shines through already.

And then i thought oh, that’s why the skull represents death. And oh, he is dying right now. And I looked away, because i did not want his last memory of me to be one of sorrow. I stood up, walked into a corner and dried my tears.

His breathing sounded so painful. Then I walked back and sat down on the couch. I looked at him and smiled. He turned his head and smiled back, and reached this hand towards my back. I hadn’t seen him move in hours.

When I left that day, i couldn’t bring myself to say “see you”, like i had always done. And i didn’t. I didn’t see him again. Knowing him, he’d already come to terms with his death, before any of us had even considered it.