on the occasion of the death of my grandma i was helping my dad change the oil in my car. at the funeral i realise how hard it is for him to hold someones hand as he takes my mothers and wraps it up with fingers. my aunt's blunt hair speaks for the family as if half of the family does not exist and i wonder how it is that things get so complicated when they are so simple. we eat sandwiches and nobody talks about grandma, as if she too, doesn't exist. she is the reason we are all here and i think of how hard it must be for my mum now that both her parents are gone.