She opened her eyes wide, taking her first deep breath of deliciously scented air. Her hair hung in two long braids down her back, her skin fresh and smooth with the delightful flush of youth. Her eyes were clear, her body new again. She twirled delightedly, dazzled.
He reached out his arms to her. "My darling Rena, you've come back to me," he said.
"Moshe," she replied, "I never wanted to leave you."
The two of them looked compassionately down upon the family members gathered around the hospital bed, all of them grieving, tears lining their saddened faces. Then they turned back to one another.
"Can I really have my youth back?" she marvelled, having forgotten the sensation of movement with ease, the free, easy way in which one could traverse the soft dewy grass, the shine of the sun in her hair.
"Of course," Moshe replied. "This is a world of the spirit, of the soul. Here you may have everything." He beckoned her to his palace, shining resplendently in the sky. "This is what I have been building for you during the past twenty years," he stated grandly. She looked at the elaborate silks, the scent of pomegranate and myrrh intermingling, the jewels that lay at her feet. She smiled to see the glittering glow of God's light that emanated from the windows.
"And is that where we shall dwell?" she inquired, curious.
"Yes, Rena," he told her, and she smiled, glad to have been united with him at last.
My moonlit grandmother is dead.