My Life as a Tiny Plasticine Penis

I sat there holding her cold, wrinkled hand in my fat paw, willing the heat from my hand to transfer to hers. I gingerly patted her soft downy hair, wondering how the Altensheim could cut my Großmutter's hair into a boy's crew cut. She who used to be so proud of her looks and took pains to always look presentable even when a sprightly 80 year old. 

"阿妈，do you remember when you used to comb my hair 100 times after I bathe? How gently you would stroke through my wild hair?" She looked at me, her beady eyes sunk into her deeply wrinkled and sallow face.

She couldn't remember that anymore. But at least she could still remember my name. And that was enough.