What would I have done?

The last time I saw my grandfather, he did not remember me. It was November two years ago and we were in Dallas. When my mother drove us from the airport, the brightness and flatness of most things disoriented me. The light was nearly white, the sky a single shade of blue. In the car, on the way to my grandfather’s nursing home, I felt lonely. He would die here. 

When I was younger, he lived in the mountains. We used to drive there on school holidays. During the winter, my father would put chains on the tires and the car would crack over the ice. I made my sister sit by the far window, the one closest to the cliff, so I did not have to look over the edge.