The Next Chapter
The last time I lost my sight it was two months ago. At the time, the image of my Gramma appeared in my head. She used to take care of me. She took me by the hand and we were walking through a beet field. I was eight years old. It was late in the afternoon. The livid sky had been washed clean by the wind and a new colour took its place, which made me happy in my loneliness. Past the beet field there was a little hill and an orchard. Gramma said to me:
‘He wanted to go out into the sunlight. He wanted to see the sun. Besides that, he said: “I’ve got to dig it up. I’ve got to dig it out, because I have it inside. I must, I just must dig it out. Into the sunlight.” That was your granddad. He’d been buried for four months. It was to be his last death. He’d already died sever
