I would draw here what I know of my grandmother.

A portrait made of the blood links that are linking us together.
An erasure made of the blood links that are linking us together.

I trace her journey through life with red worsted.

When she died, I held her body close to me.
An ending point, finally. Something reachable and still.

I almost missed that last damp breath over my shoulder.
The closeness of bodies under bright white hospital lights.

I almost went to a party.
The closeness of bodies under an intermittent darkness.

I almost hated her through whatever made us family.
The closeness of bodies under same names and same features.

Coefficient of relationship, they call it.