Yesterday, my grandmother died. It was all of sudden, and I knew it by my father.

She was my father's grandmother. But I didn't feel sad...

When I was born, she was already old. She used to spend days locked in her room, talking to herself, just like was a young woman again. My grandmother and her sisters were the ones who used to take care of her. But they din't like it. I remember when my grandmother arrived late for dinner because she was giving the food to her mother. I wouldn't call her mother. All they did was fighting. That old lady used to say that my grand mother was serving her poisoned food.

She was my father's grandmother. But I don't feel sad.

I didn't have any bonds with her. I was never able to talk to her properly, because I was too young, and when I reached the age to talk, she was already too old. She was my close family but we were acquaintances at the same time. Just how interesting and awkward can that be?

She lived for a long time. She was 99. She would be 100 this year. She had never been sick, only took pills for blood pressure and had alzeimer.
I knew that if my mother's grandmother died, I would feel very sad. But when my father told me the news, I didn't cry at all. She was already so far away, that it was like she was in a different world than mine.

This feeling... It's not sadness nor hapiness. I fell strange, but in an interrogative way.

She was my father's grandmother... but I didn't cry at all.