Grandma’s Suicide: What’d I Done Wrong?

For as long as I could remember, I'd only seen my parents three times. Sarah said they left to find work in the city when I was only six months old. The fourth time I saw them was when I was thirteen, the year Sarah had a brain hemorrhage and became bedridden. They urged me to take good care of her, left some money, and then left again. Sarah had never let me do any chores before, but now I had to learn everything: cooking, laundry, and even how to change her urine-soaked sheets in the middle of the night. But I never complained. She had taken care of me, and now it was my turn, as her granddaughter, to take care of her. After Sarah got sick, many younger people from the village, as well as Sarah's close friends, would come to visit. Everyone said I was taking good care of her. Vivian, our neighbor, had known Sarah since she was a child and was very close to her. Vivian often came to chat with Sarah, and with her encouragement, Sarah's mood visibly improved. "Eva, take good care of Sarah at home. If you need anything, come find me next door. I’m happy to do it," Vivian said with a smile, holding my hand. I nodded vigorously. "Okay, Vivian, you should come over often when you're free. Sarah loves chatting with you!" "Alright, you go ahead and finish the laundry. I'll be going then." As I stood there with Sarah's bedsheet in my hand, I felt a sudden urge to confide in someone. I couldn't even tell if I wanted sympathy or praise. "This is the bedsheet Sarah wet last night. I soaked it all morning. I washed it out just in time while the sun was good." Vivian was taken aback for a moment and then nodded approvingly. "You're such a good girl. Sarah is lucky to have you." Unbeknownst to me, Sarah had heard our entire conversation. ***** From that day on, Sarah suddenly refused to speak. It didn't matter if it was the neighbors who came to visit or even me. No matter how hard I tried, she remained the same, the smile on her face appearing less and less. Sarah used to be cheerful and talkative, but now she barely spoke a word all day. Unconsciously, the distance between us grew, even though I was by her side every day. "Eva, are you tired?" Sarah suddenly asked as I was turning her over. I was startled for a moment and instinctively turned her to face me. It was only then, as her face came into view, that I realized she was already in tears. I held her close, and soon, she was sobbing uncontrollably. "I'm old and don't have many years left. If you're tired, just leave me on the back hill. I won't blame you." "Sarah, I'm not tired. I'm willing to take care of you. I want you to always be with me." "I can feel it; you're tired. Why don't you say it?" Sarah said, stroking my hair. "No, no, I'm really not. I told you I'm not tired. I've only been taking care of you for less than half a year. You’ve taken care of me for thirteen years." Sarah didn't speak again. Another six months passed, and almost no one came to visit or chat with Sarah anymore. Both she and I gradually grew accustomed to the silence. Slowly, I noticed that Sarah's temper was getting worse. Sometimes she would throw things, and sometimes she would get angry for no reason. I finally snapped after she pulled out a large clump of my hair. ***** "Just leave me alone. "Just leave me alone, please! I beg you! Just leave me alone! "I have to wait on you hand and foot every day, clean up your piss and s**t, and I still have to go to school and study. I'm already exhausted. Can't you smell the stench of piss and s**t that permeates our entire house? Why won't you just leave me alone? Why do you have to do this to me?" I yelled at Sarah, my veins bulging, my spit practically hitting her face. Sarah seemed to know she had done something wrong. Her eyes darted around, but she wouldn't look at me. Seeing her like this, my heart softened, and I immediately regretted my outburst. I hugged Sarah, tears soaking into her clothes. "I'm sorry, Sarah, I'm sorry. I was too impulsive just now. Don't be angry." I felt Sarah's hand patting my back helplessly, humming the lullaby she used to sing to me when I was little. This was the first time Sarah and I had such a fierce argument. After that, the atmosphere between us was awkward for several days until it was time for the parent-teacher conference at school. Sarah used to attend the conferences before she fell ill, but after that, no one went with me. However, in order to ease the awkwardness between us, I decided to persuade Sarah to attend this time. "No," Sarah said curtly, refusing to speak further. No matter how hard I tried to persuade her, she wouldn't budge. She even refused to eat dinner that night. "I've already told the teacher that you'll be there. You have to go, whether you like it or not. Otherwise, I'll tell the teacher to come personally and invite you." The teachers and students at school had already heard about me taking care of Sarah on my own. After I explained that Sarah would be attending this parent-teacher conference, the school expressed great concern.  I finally found an avenue to show off my "work" and couldn't wait to put Sarah on display in front of the entire school. So, on the day of the conference, I ignored Sarah's protests, carried her onto her wheelchair, and took her to school. At that moment, I wasn't just pushing Sarah; I was showcasing my artwork, a masterpiece that would earn me praise and admiration. Because of Sarah's presence, our class had the highest parent turnout. The teacher stood on the podium, gestured towards Sarah and me, and began to introduce us to everyone. Suddenly, a pungent smell of urine wafted from where Sarah sat. A pale yellow liquid seeped through the wheelchair cushion, dripping onto the floor. The teacher's speech came to a halt, and all eyes turned to Sarah. It was the first time Sarah cried in front of strangers.