The Black Dress

I'm back in the Fort for a while. On the way home, we stopped in to see my grandma, but we couldn't stay long because she was feeling really ill. Once we got home, my parents told me that next time I have a chance, over the break, I should go by myself a nice black dress, you know, "in case of interviews and thing, and if something happens with your grandmother".

It's not enough that I had to sit by my grandma's bed and talk to her cheerfully while watching her slowly dieing in front of me, hopped up on morphine that isn't taking away the pain well enough. I have to be told to go buy a dress for the funeral over Christmas break. I know, it shouldn't bother me this much. I expect all this. I expected to be buying an outfit to wear to her funeral in the very near future. But to hear it vocalized so often...it just hurts so much. But I'm supposed to be the listener so my mother can tell me all her worries and fears, and so I can't tell her how much it hurts. I just get to smile, and pretend I'm strong enough for both of us. But I'm not.