Chapter One
Not long after my grandmother died, my computer
crashed and I lost the journal I had kept of her dying. I'd
made diskette copies of everything else on my computermany
drafts of a novel, scores of reviews and essays and
probably hundreds of articles, but I had not printed out,
backed up or made a copy of the diary. No doubt this had
to do with my ambivalence about writing and where it
leads, for I was recording not only my feelings but also the
concrete details of her death. How the tiny monitor taped
to her index finger made it glow pink. How mist from the
oxygen collar whispered through her hair. How her skin
grew swollen
and wrinkled, like the skin of a baked apple,
yet remained astonishingly soft to the touch. Her favorite
songs"Embraceable You" and "Our Love Is Here to
Stay"that she could no longer hear but that we sang to
her anyway. The great gaps in her breathing. The moment
when she was gone and the nurses came and ...
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