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Personal Statement: What it really means to be gone

My grandmother was fading into the background of faces from my childhood, becoming another one of the dead relatives lining the pages of our photo albums, turning into a set of anecdotal stories. She seemed, with each day, less and less like the person I knew, with all her affectations and complexities, and more like an ossified, idealized caricature of herself. This was what it really meant for her to be gone.