It's strange how you always realize how much you love someone, only when they're not there anymore. It's not just strange. It's unfair. You always feel that you could have made so many more memories with them, spent every minute of your waking hours with them. But it's almost always too late, and that nagging feeling keeps nibbling your inside.
I lost my Granny last week. I knew I loved her, but I wasn't sure how much until last week. She was ninety five. And she was technically not even my own grandmother. Everyone would say, "Well, it's good she didn't have to suffer any longer." Those would have been my words of comfort for someone I didn't know. But when it's someone you do, it's a whole lot different. Your brain switches off and all you feel is your bleeding heart.
When my aunt sent me a text telling me about her deteriorating conditions, I was strong. I knew I had to be strong for my cousin. She passed away next morning. I called my cousin. I could only hear broken words on the other side of the line. I told her to be strong and that I'd be there for her through it all. I paid them a visit next morning. I was rehearsing my lines in my head. What could I possibly say to her in times like this? I decided on some words that seemed pretty reassuring then. But when I met her, it all got muddled. She was smiling and joking like nothing happened. She offered me tea. And suddenly I felt weak. All that strength had just slipped through a treacherous pore inside. I went to Granny's room. The sheets were unruffled. It was like she had gone on vacation. Her crutch was lying untouched in the corner, the one that resembled a Queen's sceptre, I had jokingly told her once. Her favourite pink striped night dress was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Everything in the room looked exactly the same except for that empty void on the side of the bed, where she used to sit amidst a mound of disarrayed blankets, her bent broken back propped up by pillows, and arms outstretched waiting to feel my hand, her blind eye twinkling. Her withered palm felt like wrinkled parchment, so delicate that it might crumble to dust at the slightest touch. I could not enter her room. I stood at the door for a while, probably waiting to catch that familiar dragging sound of her flip-flops from the balcony. But there was nothing.
This was how empty I felt only a week back. I thought life would come to a stand still after this. But I was wrong. The daily monotone of life sucked me in even before I could resist. And before long I found myself laughing at the same jokes, stressing over late night labwork and making plans with friends over the weekends like nothing happened. Which makes me wonder. Do I not miss her? Has her throbbing void been filled already? In seven days? I think not. Maybe Life just walked ahead carrying me with Him, leaving that lonely void behind. He has no time to wait. She was MY granny. I knew her. I loved her. But for Him, she was just another someone...
I lost my Granny last week. I knew I loved her, but I wasn't sure how much until last week. She was ninety five. And she was technically not even my own grandmother. Everyone would say, "Well, it's good she didn't have to suffer any longer." Those would have been my words of comfort for someone I didn't know. But when it's someone you do, it's a whole lot different. Your brain switches off and all you feel is your bleeding heart.
When my aunt sent me a text telling me about her deteriorating conditions, I was strong. I knew I had to be strong for my cousin. She passed away next morning. I called my cousin. I could only hear broken words on the other side of the line. I told her to be strong and that I'd be there for her through it all. I paid them a visit next morning. I was rehearsing my lines in my head. What could I possibly say to her in times like this? I decided on some words that seemed pretty reassuring then. But when I met her, it all got muddled. She was smiling and joking like nothing happened. She offered me tea. And suddenly I felt weak. All that strength had just slipped through a treacherous pore inside. I went to Granny's room. The sheets were unruffled. It was like she had gone on vacation. Her crutch was lying untouched in the corner, the one that resembled a Queen's sceptre, I had jokingly told her once. Her favourite pink striped night dress was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Everything in the room looked exactly the same except for that empty void on the side of the bed, where she used to sit amidst a mound of disarrayed blankets, her bent broken back propped up by pillows, and arms outstretched waiting to feel my hand, her blind eye twinkling. Her withered palm felt like wrinkled parchment, so delicate that it might crumble to dust at the slightest touch. I could not enter her room. I stood at the door for a while, probably waiting to catch that familiar dragging sound of her flip-flops from the balcony. But there was nothing.
This was how empty I felt only a week back. I thought life would come to a stand still after this. But I was wrong. The daily monotone of life sucked me in even before I could resist. And before long I found myself laughing at the same jokes, stressing over late night labwork and making plans with friends over the weekends like nothing happened. Which makes me wonder. Do I not miss her? Has her throbbing void been filled already? In seven days? I think not. Maybe Life just walked ahead carrying me with Him, leaving that lonely void behind. He has no time to wait. She was MY granny. I knew her. I loved her. But for Him, she was just another someone...
