the weight of a life.

'when are you coming to see me?'

an innocent question that my grandmother asked me today, that in any other context i wouldn't have thought too hard about when replying with 'soon, i'd love to come see you soon'. but everything changes when someone is dying and asks you that exact question.

boom. why did it not dawn on me to visit her before she died rather than at her funeral? by all means i wish i could go to the funeral, it would mean a lot to me. but when i weigh it all out, isn't her presence in life a really special thing? especially in these last days?

tomorrow i find myself on a trip to kingston. i have no idea what the future holds in the days that i plan on being there, but i'll be there. and it will be hard, but perhaps it will be also good.