"... you must take good care of your mother.."

She reached for her cup of tea as her voice fell weak and crumbled under her words. I wouldn't ever know how or where to begin to describe the strength I have witnessed in my grandmother this entire life. It made my mother who she is. It has made me who I am. Things are different now. Conversations are heavier with truths little girls cannot bear to carry. Things are different now. And the weight is being shifted. It needs to be. Her spine, like her spirit, is still strong, but frail and curving.

In my heart I search desperately for something in the silence. Words will not do. I place my palm on her hand, and promise her with heavy eyelids, I will.