I don’t remember if I died from the pain or from blood loss, only that that night, the wind howled across my exposed, bloody face.

Perhaps before death, one recalls moments of beauty.

In my confusion, I thought back to when I was seven years old.

To give birth to Matthew, my mother had sent me to Grandfather's house.

There, only my elderly grandfather lived alone.

He was the kindest person I had ever known, giving me all the kindness in my life.

He would find mushrooms that had just sprouted after the rain, boil them, and cook them with eggs to make a soup for me.

One day, my...