My Grandmother is still not dead

In my dream, 
We’re still in the hospital.
There are more people coming,
To pay their respects to the last 
Of my grandmother’s shallow breaths
They have enough of their own 
To waste in platitudes
They insist that saying goodbye
Is the only proper thing to do,
(for closure)
I tremble as I touch a hand
That raised me to know sunlight
A touch I can remember now
When I hold snow for too long
In my dream,
She’s always alive as my hand meets
Her oxygen mask
And because I know how it has to end
I do it.
In my dream,
She dies.
Is it because I killed her?

It’s been seven years since she last breathed
And my grandmother is still not dead.

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