Athena Morin

Daughter

chile will you just sit still… it’s late and I want to get done. THAT was the last I can remember of her. She was beautiful that night, as I see her when I shut my eyes, I can see her clear as day. My grandmother, the patriarch of the family. Her long black and silver hair, thick coke bottle glasses, tan skin, and her warm touch as she brushed my hair for school. We would sit in the living room of our small cottage like home fire blazing to keep us warm. I sat on the wood floor with the quilt she made to cover my legs and body moving every time she snagged my hair. She braided each side with grace explaining to me that the braid was more than a braid. The braids represents our worries, fears and stress. She would say to keep my hair in this briad so as to be free of the things that most people can’t get free from. This time would be the last braid she would ever do for me. I woke up cold and knowing something wasn’t right. The house dark smelling of burnt wood and my grandmother still lying in the same place I left her when told to go to bed. I called to her with no answer. Grandmother it’s cold you need to go to bed. I touch her hand still warm but no breath and just like that she was gone.