Unceasing encounter

I could see her lying there, huddled in a white blanket, serene and unperturbed by the chaos that surrounded her. Though I had always known that moment was enivatable, I had taken no measures to prepare myself for it, and had been taken aback when I found out what had happened. In the glimpse of an eye, one of the most important people in my life had ceased to physically be in my life, and as much as I craved to hear her voice once more, I knew I never could. The cheeks that had never gone a single day without red rouge, were now so inspid, drained of their vivacity, of my grand mother's characterist animation. We were both in it together, I thought, me and she, both experiencing our first encounter with death; the only difference was that even though she had finally experienced it first hand, I had just been invited to stand on the peripheries of this cruel yet somehow necessary phenomenon. However, despite it being my first encounter with death, it had been my last encounter with someone who had always been a constant in my life. I brushed my hand on her face, willing her to wake up and engage in one last embrace, yet all I aquired was caution from the onlookers as to not to touch the 'dead body' for too long. Now after almost three years, I have realized that there is no final encounter. I still meet my grandmother everyday, in crises, times of need and blissful occasions, with each encounter affirming my love for the person that still means the world to me and each memory strengthing my connection with her spirit that translates so heavily in me and my personality.