text: "There's my little Bee!" My grandmother rushes over to me, her face as wrinkled as aged paper. She smiles and pulls me into a warm embrace. Her hair smells of strong perfume, and I have to hold back the urge to cough. She leans back, holding me out in front of her and looking at me like I'm an abstract painting put out on display. "Haven't you grown into such a beautiful young woman." I always thought that was a funny statement. The 'haven't you' makes it sound like it's supposed to be a question, but how am I supposed to answer that? And I know it's a compliment, but I'm not a young woman! If I was a woman, I'd be off to college, doing more important things than visiting my old grandmother off in the countryside. I know it's blunt, but bluntness usually speaks the truth. But instead of offending her, I reply, "Thank you. How have you been?" "Oh, you know, the usual. It's been lonely without Philip, but at least I have Pumpkin," she sighs and glances at the small calico cat sitting at her feet. I nod, not wanting to speak further of Grandpa. That wound is still fresh, and I'm not in the mood for tears. “Well!” Grandma says, clapping her hands together so suddenly that Pumpkin jumps in fright. “We’d best get inside, shouldn’t we?” I follow her as she walks back into the cottage, clutching onto my backpack and duffel bag. She moves around quickly for an old lady. I guess her daily walks pay off. The interior of the house is just as cozy as the exterior, with brick walls and a fireplace in the sitting area. Half a dozen picture frames sit on the mantle, with images of my family and a couple of pictures that I don’t recognize. I’m happy to be back at Grandma’s house, but it feels empty. Grandma goes to the kitchen as I set down my bags on one of the sofas. Walking over to the mantle, I pick up a dusty black and white portrait of a young man. He’s smiling, and in the background I see what looks like the beach. The picture is obviously old, and I check the back of the frame for a date. Philip, 1967. I look back at the picture again, and realize how much he looks like his older self. And then, after I finally comprehend who he is and the fact that he’s not here anymore, a sudden feeling of sorrow washes over me. It’s as if rocks were dropped from my throat and landed heavily in my stomach, and a cold blanket of darkness covered me from head to toe. I was not unfamiliar with this feeling. “Bee?” My grandmother’s voice brings me back to reality, and I quickly set the portrait back on the mantle. “Are you alright? You’ve been staring at the picture for a long time," Grandma frowns at me, her face scrunched up more than it normally is. “Oh, of course!” I say quickly, nodding fervently as if that would make her believe me more. Still glancing at me worriedly from time to time, Grandma continues making dinner, and the comforting smells of tomato sauce and meatballs waft through the air. Deciding I should finally visit my room, I grab my bags and head down the hall. I open the alder wood door and enter the bedroom I usually occupy during my stays. The room is small and musty, with a twin size bed set off to the side, random decorations on the walls, and a little window facing towards the mountains. The window is probably my favorite part about the room. I walk over to the window, resting my elbows on the sill. The view of the alpine mountains is stunning, and it always leaves me in awe no matter how many times I see them. Grandma calls for dinner, and I hurry off to the dining room where a large pot of spaghetti sits comfortably in the middle. I take a seat eagerly, and my grandmother sits across, heaping a large portion of pasta onto my plate. After several helpings, I slowly become aware that I am extremely tired. I clean up my plate, thank Grandma for the meal, and tell her I'm going to bed. She looks disappointed, as if she expected to spend time with me. But I shake it off and head to bed. ..... Light is never trustworthy. Sure, it gives you the ability to see what's in front of you so you don't go stumbling blindly in the dark. Sure, without light we wouldn't have color, and therefore our world would be a murky and colorless place. But with light, you have shadows. And bad things like to hide in places where no light touches. If we didn't have light, we wouldn’t have to worry about grief. I have never understood it. Well, I haven’t really understood how to handle it. The best I can do is stuff it into a drawer and pretend it was never there. End of story. But in the end, I'll find it pop up in some random place, not where I ended up putting it at all. That’s what’s so scary about it. You can’t control it. I can’t sleep. My body is so incredibly exhausted, but my brain feels like it was injected with ten energy drinks. I keep replaying a memory in my head, and I can’t seem to think of anything else. It's when I was about eight years old. I was just coming back from school on the bus, and I really wanted to get off of that bus. I hated school buses. They were always so loud and crowded, and sometimes you ended up sitting next to a stranger. Sometimes that stranger was extremely talkative, and they just couldn’t stop bothering you about whatever thing they had on their mind. Others, who were sometimes worse, would just pretend like you weren’t even there. But, after that long day of school, I wanted nothing more than to come back home. And I was surprised when I found Grandpa, waiting at the bus stop, grinning ear to ear. Grandpa was the kind of person that made you happy just by being around him. He was always smiling, always in a good mood, and always warm and welcoming. He loved spoiling me, especially because I’m an only child. And when I found him, waiting at the bus stop with open arms, it completely made my day. I don’t know why I remember that specific memory. It’s nothing that is very noteworthy. But this memory seemed to be the trailer of a long movie, for I suddenly became overwhelmed with all the memories that flowed through my mind. Grandpa and I on the swings at the park. Us singing karaoke together. Grandpa reading a bedtime story to me before tucking me into bed. All those memories were so simple. But it must’ve been something if it made shiny tears stream down my face. It must’ve been meaningful if it caused me to suddenly feel that same feeling I felt when I saw his portrait. “Why,” I sob. That’s all that is running through my head at this moment. Why . Why did he have to go? I look around the room, the room so full of sweet remembrances and moments. Suddenly realizing it’s becoming hard to breathe, and the walls are starting to feel like they’re caving in, I pull myself out of bed and start towards the door. Walking faster now, I head down the hall, not knowing exactly where I’m going. My tears are making it harder to see, and my heart feels like a hundred pounds. Not fully in control, I hurry to the front door of the house, fumbling for the doorknob before swinging it open. Now running, I leave the house, descend the cobblestone steps, and into the dandelion-covered meadow. My heart pounds in my chest, as if a small man with a hammer is trying to escape from my body. I need to leave. I finally run out of breath and fall to my knees in the middle of the meadow. Looking up at the dark and cloudy sky, I cry, “Why? Why did you have to leave me?” I am shouting now, probably waking up every living thing that can hear me. There must be a time when my grandmother comes, for later I have a small memory of her wrapping her arms around me and whispering, “It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Although light is never trustworthy, you need it. Light gives you the ability to see what's in front of you so you don't go stumbling blindly in the dark. Because of light you have color, and beauty, and uniqueness. Sure, with light, you have shadows. And grief hides in those shadows. But, without light, you wouldn’t be able to see those you love in front of you.