my grandmother

I miss my late maternal grandmother; she passed away this day sixteen years ago, but I still remember her vividly. She often haunts my memories and I like sharing stories about her to Daniel. It makes me sad that Daniel never had the opportunity to meet her.

This morning I had a flashback of my childhood: the two of us sleeping together in the same room, she telling me a story about the “three eyed pig” when she suddenly fell asleep and started snoring, and us giggling about the snores when she awoke a couple minutes later. I still wonder how she fell asleep so quickly!

My grandmother used to always tell these stories. It would be same three over and over again, but I never got bored of hearing any of them. I barely remember them now; unfortunately they have faded with time. I wish I had better foresight as a child and written them down before forgetting.

She taught me to have a compassionate spirit. She would always be praying for those less fortunate and there was this once when I knelt with her in the middle of the room to pray and pray and pray (in a time that seemed like eternity for me) for the victims of war (the Bosnian one, I think).

She knew very very little English, but loved watching soap operas; I used watch Young and the Restless (she loved Jack) with her everyday, acting as her translator.

She was a kindred spirit.

I remember many moments during the period between her cancer diagnoses and her death, mere months later. I remember wishing upon a star every single night after hospital visits that she may live. I remember making her paper flowers for mother’s day and finding them carefully tucked in her drawers months after her death. I remember, the night of her death, every moment leading up to her last breath: me and laura in the cafeteria buying a soft drink, going back up to her room excitedly because we got a free drink but wanted to ask for more money, walking by her room and noticing the heaviness of the atmosphere because everyone knew the moment was to come, my dad as solemn as I’ve ever seen him, running to my mum was weeping. I was eight years old at the time, but I still remember.

According to my dad, she took her last breath when all her children and grandchildren were in the room, as if she was kind enough to wait for all of us to say our goodbyes before meeting our Great Maker.

When I got married, my mum gave me a ring my grandmother gave her. I had wanted the ring ever so badly, not only because it’s beautiful but it belonged to her. It’s something I’ll pass on to my daughter and perhaps one day something she’ll pass on to hers.