“My mother’s mother, who raised me for many years, called me on Skype at ninety-five, it was 2014. She was pale and weak, almost skeletal, she said to me, “Ma Scarlou, ma cherie, you have to let me go, you have to let me go.” For years, it had been an unspoken pact that I would be there, holding her hand, when she took her final breath. But now I was 10,000 km away and she could not wait. Two weeks later I woke up from a nightmare in which she has been murdered. In a panic I tried to reach her. Eventually, my aunt replied, she had passed in the night-her morning. Her last words were wishing me good fortune in life. This tapis, a design doodle in my dairy at the time, is of this last GOOD NIGHT KISS I was not able to give her.”