Grandmother took my ashes urn and boarded the bus back to the countryside.
I floated beside her, watching the scenery outside rush past, watching grandmother's aged profile, watching the deep wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the bottomless sorrow hidden inside them.
When we returned to the old country house, it was already dark.
My grandmother switched on a small oil lamp, its warm yellow glow spreading across the cramped, timeworn room.
She set the urn carefully on the table in the living room, adjusted it until it sat just right, then lit three memorial candles and placed them in an old holder.
Thin wisps of smoke rose from the wicks, drifting and curling in the low light.
Grandmother stood before the urn for a long time, then turned and looked in the direction where I was f
