What little food we had procured could serve a meager meal of insufficience to us. My grandmother began to give me her portions. Not making a show of this nor a word about it; only I knew about her sacrifice. She retired to her blanket after every meal to retain what ever scant energy she had left and stared listlessly to the light coming out of the cracked door or stared blankly at something at a distance which I could never figure out.

On the last night of her life there was a small piece of bread torn into bite-sized scraps. She handed her morsel to me, clasping my fingers, one last time. As I crouched and took the piece, right then her eyelids fluttered shut and she quietly slipped away.

I knelt by her side and clinched her bony hands sharing in her secret plot to make one life from two.



The Graduate


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