“If you cut out a rectangle of a perfectly blue sky, no clouds, no wind, no birds, frame it with a blue frame, place it face up on the floor  of an empty museum with an open atrium to the sky, that is grief.” – Victoria Chang, Obit

I was twelve years old when I encountered death for the first time. My maternal grandfather had passed away from a heart attack. I remember standing beside my mother and grandmother in a funeral home, a space where the worlds of the living and the dead collide. My mother greeted acquaintances and thanked them for their condolences for what seemed like an eternity. During my grandpa’s cremation, I was overwhelmed by an irrational fear that he could still feel pain. Meanwhile, my mom was occupied with documents to be signed and conversations to be had with staff. Occasionally, she checked on me ...