My Mother’s Mother

My maternal grandmother died of liver cancer when I was 9 years old. We traveled to England to be with her during her last hours, and I saw death up close for the first time — jaundice yellow, bewildering and bleak. I’ll never forget the smell of her there on the hospital bed, the sound of my mothers tears. I hardly knew her, and yet feel so much of her alive in me today. She was passionate artist, a fierce mother, a hard worker, and a schizophrenic. . .