Gran loves to look at old photographs and ask me over and over if she used to be pretty, if her eyes were small back then, if she looked nice in a dress... Over and over. And I lose my patience with her. Each time I'm at the dining table snacking and she approaches me with old photographs, I start trying to swallow my food whole. I give those photographs which I have seen a billion times before a perfunctory glance, mumble something in annoyance... Gran loses her patience with me. And I go up to my room.
But I realize that that's all that Gran has. Mum tried taking her out but she always turned her down and eventually, Mum stopped.
And Gran goes back to looking at those stupid photographs over and over.
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Items of the past are paraphernalia of death to me. Looking at them makes you ache for things that time can never give back to you, even if it wants to.
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