I feel really bad writing this, like, really really bad, and I know it’s messed up but I just have to get it out I guess because it’s eating me up inside and I can’t tell anyone in real life about it, not even my bestie because she would totally freak out, and think I’m like, a terrible person or something. It’s about my grandma, not my actual grandma but like, my great-aunt Martha who everyone calls grandma anyway because she’s super old and always just kinda *there* you know. She lived with us for like, forever, because grandpa – not *my* grandpa but her husband, great-uncle Joe – was really sick for a long time, like years and years, and she took care of him and my mom said it was her duty and like, she was a SAINT for doing it. And she was, like, a really good wife, always making him soup and helping him with his pills and stuff, and he was kinda grumpy sometimes, always wanting her to do stuff for him, and she never really got to go out or anything because someone always had to be home with him. She looked really tired all the time, and her hair was always in like a messy bun and she wore the same old cardigan every day, and I remember thinking how boring her life must be, just sitting there watching TV with him and doing laundry and cooking his special food. And I felt bad for her, I really did, because it just seemed like she was kinda stuck, like in a movie where the main character is just waiting for something to happen but it never does. But then, like, a few months ago, grandpa Joe finally passed away. And everyone was really sad, and my mom cried a lot, and we all went to the funeral and everything. And I thought grandma Martha would be totally devastated, like, broken and super sad, because they had been together for like, a million years, since they were teenagers practically, and she just loved him so much. I thought she’d be even *more* tired and just kinda fade away, you know? But like, that’s not what happened at all. For like, a week or two, she was sad, I guess, but then she started changing. Like, really changing. She went and got her hair done, like, a fancy blowout, and she bought new clothes, not like, super trendy stuff, but like, pretty dresses that she never wore before. And she started going out, like to the senior center with her friends to play bingo, and she even went to a movie with Mrs. Henderson, and she started smiling all the time, like, really big, genuine smiles. And she just seems… lighter? Happier? I don’t know. She just seems like a completely different person, and it’s kinda weird to see it, and sometimes I even feel a little bit like she’s almost GIDDY, and it just feels so WRONG to think that, because her husband just died. And the REALLY messed up part, the part that makes me feel like such a bad person, is that I’m kinda happy for her too, even though I know I shouldn’t be. Like, it’s wrong to be happy that someone died, obviously, but it’s like she got her life back, you know? And I look at her and I think, wow, she’s finally free, and she actually seems… happy. And it makes me feel so guilty because it’s like I’m secretly celebrating his death too, just a little bit, for her sake. And it just makes me feel like a horrible, horrible person and I don’t know what to do with that feeling, or if it’s even okay to feel it at all. It just kinda floats around in my head, and I hate it.