Mami was my grandmother.
Was.
Because she's dead.
She died October 20th.
The day after my best friend's birthday party.
The day after a boy said i was pretty.

I cried, of course,
but as the days passed i realized i wasn't so sad.
And that made me really angry.
How couldn't be sad?
What was wrong with me?

I remember this day when she wrote my name on a notebook.
She wanted to talk to me.
She said she was sorry about what happened.
Long story.

I remember when she had the stroke.
It was my brother's birthday and she was so happy on the phone.
Mom was smoothing my hair and my aunt called.
I remember the lost look in her eyes.
I remember my sister crying.
I remember telling my brother on the phone.
I remember crying.
But i can't remember was was the last thing she said to me.
And that's ****** up.

After she died i understood my mixed feelings.
I miss my grandmother.
But the lady in the bed of a ****** hospital wasn't my grandmother.
I know it sounds mean.
But it's the truth.