Grandma’s kids are lined up to visit over the next few months, each stay­ing with her a few weeks at a time. An uncle flew in a few days before my dad and I left, and another aunt has arrived since.

Grandma says the house will be empty when my uncle leaves, com­pletely for­get­ting that my aunt who’s already there has given up her life to be with her indef­i­nitely. We joke that she’s just another maid to grandma now. Her mem­ory remains patchy; some­times she’s lucid, some­times she’s lost.

I won­der if she’ll even remem­ber if I was here.

Leaving was hard. My aunt hugged me long, told me she’d miss me through the lump in her throat, and promptly went to the bed­room to com­pose her­self. Knowing it was the last time I was going to see her, I hugged and kissed my grandma as much as I could. It was an effort not to cry. Even the maid wiped a tear from her eye with the back of her hand, but none of the other men did, and I won­der if they would have, had they not been in the pres­ence of other men.

As we were leav­ing, she handed me a red enve­lope, and told us to visit her again soon. It was a relief to know that she’s still uncon­scious of her ter­mi­nal con­di­tion, but the reminder that I would never see her again broke my heart.

What a strange feel­ing it is to know that she’s still alive on the other side of the world, while I’m here, unable to be with her. For now, I’m happy and relieved that I had the chance to express myself to her, and film her, and cap­ture her image.