Grandma is dying; there’s no way around it. She’s already 94 years old, so no one is surprised, and we’ve all been preparing for it in our own ways for a long time. Still, when the doctor said she had less than a month, putting a definite deadline on something we were too scared to think about, it made us realize that it’s really happening and not just some arbitrary prediction anymore.

Sitting in a hospital room together, sharing our silent grief, puts things into perspective. This is truly the most important thing we all face together as a family. We might not grieve in the same way, but we’re all grieving together. All those interactions that seemed trivial before have become more meaningful than ever. Though we didn’t say much, we felt closer than ever before. We can even notice each other’s pain through even the tiniest expressions.

I'm not sure how long we’ll get to sit together like this, but I’ll cherish every smile and tear I saw today and every day after until her time comes. I’d hate to see her go, but I know it’s for the best. And I know I don’t have to bear the grief alone because we’re all sharing the pain.

The only thing I wish for her is that she could remember all of us—the grief, the love, and the memories as a family—in her final moments, ensuring she’s not alone in her journey. She’s lived a long life; it’d seem hard to remember everything, but I want her to remember that she’s always loved by everyone around her. I truly hope she will take our shared love in this family with her last breath.

We’re in this together, and we’ll get through this together. But most importantly, this family will keep her in our hearts forever.

P.S. My selfish wish is to see her live through this month because it’d tear me apart every year to grieve her during my birth month.

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