ch we had converted into her bedroom. The living room was once clean and tidy, photographs of our family on the walls. The window was always open, so the fresh, warm breeze could float in as the curtains danced.
             Now medications filled the drawers and all the tabletops and shelves and there were a lot of cloths and my grandmother's things scattered about in the room. This is because we knew she would not get up again and this was a one-way trip for my grandmother. So we thought we would change the room, into her room so she could die happy with all her belongings. Each object brought back emotions and memories back for her. My grandmother was sick; she could not eat anything without bringing the contence back up again. She was skinny and I was worried for her. Her hair was once a full head of blond hair, which sat on her shoulders, now it was thin and grey, huge chunks had fallen out. I wanted to help her, but what could I do? I was scared to go near her, scared to hug her encase she broke. I held her hand though. Her hands were cold even though the heating was always on at the hottest temperature. Her hands were thin and fragile; my mum occasionally ran out of the room crying her face was red and she could not take the pain anymore of her mother lying there. I stayed next to my grandmother; I did not want her to be alone on this cold and heartless day. I kept holding her hand, and my warmth melted into her hands and her fingers slipped through mine. Her hands were hard and dry and you could see her veins, like lines in crumpled paper. She was staring at me, this time there were tears rolling down her cheeks, like water falling off glass. Her eyes were bright blue, and they looked as deep as the ocean and it felt like I was looking deep into her soul. She started to whisper to me in a quiet, hoarse voice. Unable to do anything, I knew what was happening. I felt her hand go as cold as ice and her pulse slowly died down and then va...