I am afraid my grandmother is dying. Deep purple bruises blooming from the young nurses attempt at inserting an IV are an inflammatory response to the weakness in her heart. They are like deep murky waters – holding memory that hurts. There is a visceral ache that brings me to the water after a ten hour flight away from my grandma. She wants me to be here – she tells everyone in earshot about my being here. Yet, guilt tells me I should have stayed.

Sumida River, do you know that in nehiyaw, death is sometimes understood to be a return to water? My family lived by dene law, but Grandpa Angus was nehiyaw too.

I’ve been sending my grandma pictures of you. She doesn’t know why. Like most things with her, it is too fragile to say out loud. But my mom tells me that she has been happier since I started sending the photos. Sometimes you need the distance of an ocean to repair a relationship.

With a sheepish hope you do not mind that I seek you out for comfort – your dear friend,

Dani