My nana’s death was so sudden. A week after we let my mom’s sister take care of her, because we couldn’t handle the Alzheimer’s anymore, my aunt left her alone for two hours. Then she had a stroke.
     

And that’s how it ended.
     

Just like that.
     

When my mom was given the ultimate choice of where her ashes were to be put, she chose the Bow cemetery, where my nana’s husband and parents lay. It meant a lot to my mom for me to go because she put so much thought into my nana’s footstone--it’s “glittering black granite” with “periwinkle hydrangeas etched into it...” (“They were her favorite…”).
     

On our way to bring flowers to the cemetery and see the new footstone, the thought of her actually being gone hit me. Not like a I miss her! I’ll never taste her homemade mac and cheese again, but more of a I’m never going to see her again. No more hugs, no more “I’ll give you a quarter if you bring me my cane”, no more hearing her voice, even if it wasn’t the real her. Something is better than nothing. Right?
     

A headache began to form, pounding against the back of my eyes, like a drum counting down until the tears cloud my eyes.
     

I rolled the window down; that usually helped with headaches. It smelled like spring, like freshly cut grass and tulips. It was so beautiful out--the sky the color of the “periwinkle hydrangeas” and the most dramatic, dazzling-white clouds.  In any other situation, I would embrace a perfect day like this. That’s not fair. It should just be grey. No rain, no black clouds, no rainbows; just nothingness. The humid air whipped my hair all over my face, but I didn’t bother to fix it.
     

My mom shared the standard stories to cheer me up, like when my nana ate dog treats and complained about “those very loud children playing outside at night”. I was too busy focusing on the clouds outside. “...just don’t remember her like this,” my mother said. “There was another Nana in there before Alzheimer’s; remember that one.”
     

But how could I? We started taking care of her right when the signs became clear, and I was only six.
     

My attention was turned back to the headache, and I complained about it to my mom, expecting her to stop the car to look in her purse. That would hopefully delay seeing the proof of Nana’s death.
     

“Lucky for you, I have some gum right in the front pocket of my purse! Do you like strawberry?” She seemed excited that I acknowledged her.
     

Strawberry gum was my favorite. It tasted just like cotton candy!
     

For a quick moment, I forgot the way I felt, and reached my hand right into her purse. I pulled out the container of Ice Breakers gum and poured two pieces in my hand. I chewed  them immediately, appreciating the initial granulated “sugary” texture. My mom kept talking, but I turned my focus back towards the window. Her “motivational words” kept replaying in my head:
     

“Don’t remember her like this.”
     

“There was another Nana in there before Alzheimer’s.”
     

“Remember the Nana who brought you to the playground. Remember the Nana who pushed you on the “big kid” swing.”
     

Now I really had a headache.
     

When we arrived at the cemetery, I lingered around to find a trash can to spit my gum out. I wanted to put off seeing her grave for as long as possible. It didn’t taste like the usual cotton candy, anyway.

To this day, strawberry gum is still tasteless.