I once told Grandma, "I want to interview you, find out how you grew up, and then write your whole life into a novel." I thought there was no rush, that we had plenty of time, until I saw her body and realized that death never gives warning.
So all I can do is tell the stories I know about her, tell of the love and resentment tangled up in our family bond, and of her kindness, forcefulness, resilience, cruelty, intelligence, and weakness... I want to say goodbye to her through a novel. This is not a story filled with warm memories and endless sorrow. The love between my grandmother and me also came with control and submission, escape and being left behind. Like a mistress, I searched desperately for an answer: did she love me?
Theme: The love and hate between a grandmother and her grandchild.
