and I went from the table to my son's bed. Laid myself next to him and gazed at his strength whilst he slept. and then just breifly I saw my own unravelling. If he were to die? his grandmother's eyes turned blank and grey upward beneath chalk white lids and her aged body shook and trembled on a precipice called death. She rturned to us , to help us fade that memory? Then why did it linger with me and let my imagination touch it to my my son's sweet grace. I do not know.