Whoever said time heals all wounds has got to be the biggest idiot on earth. *No offence mate*.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds. 20 years into the future, a wound that you thought closed off could probably open up and sting again, as fresh as if it were made yesterday.
Time leaves wounds open with a dull ache. And sometimes, sudden memories add salt to the wound, making it feel like it just opened up all over again.
Once upon a time when someone passed away, I would give the public word or statement called “My condolences”.
How irritating I must’ve sounded.
When she passed away, people would come up to me and say “we’re very sorry about your Grandmum.” Even in my ragged state of mind then, I’d always wonder, “What the hell are you sorry about?”
I should be sorry. I SHOULD BE sorry. But in a way I’m not. Why? My grandmum raised three kids, one of which became the greatest father on earth, the other two became the best uncle and aunt that any girl could hope for. But to me, that’s not her most incredible feat. Her most incredible feat was so simple:
She learnt how to love.
She would love you, even if you were a criminal on death row. And once she loved you, you felt as if you’ve never ever been loved by anyone else on earth. She was so unconditional. Never once did you feel like you have to earn her loved. Her love was so pure it was heartbreaking, and its that love that leaves a dull ache today.
Here’s the crunch : She loved me.
She loved me for my craziness and almost cheeky nature. She loved me and she told me that every night we slept. She held me close when I had tears streaming down my face. She prayed for me. Every. Single. Day. I was her Rani, She was my grandmum.
And that’s why it hurts.
But this is not my memoir to my grandmum. That I’m still working on. For that memoir, I want every word to be perfect, just like she was to me. This is to answer that million dollar question , “ Are you ok?”
Here’s the long answer, the one I would give if I had the time. “I don’t know if I’m ok. I could feel “ok” in one minute, but in the next I could be crying my eyes out. I don’t think that qualifies me as ok, but I think it qualifies me as “I’m trying to be ok.” I miss her and every minute of the day I’m confronted with memories of her. Every step I take I’m reminded of how she once held my hand and guided me through. And because of that, every time I move, there’s a dull ache in my chest reminding me that my guide has passed on and now its time for me to light my own path. And I am scared shitless.”
Grief is a funny thing isn’t it? Just when you think you have it all figured out, it just turns around and cripples you to the ground. But boy does it toughen you up.
I once read a quote that reminded me of how humans move on with life. It said, “Fear not, for Death is liberation and grieve not for those who have found themselves in Deaths warm embrace. Rejoice for the moment they lived, and those moments that made them special to our hearts.” I don’t quite agree with the “don’t grieve” part but I sure as hell would like to rejoice for every minute my grandmum walked this earth.
I love and miss you Bibiji. And not a minute in my life will go by not remembering you and your love for me.
“ In my darkest hour you held my hand.
My candle that burnt both ends,
And as you came to the centre of your wax,
You burnt so brightly, that tears would lapse,
Now that candle has disappered,
Leaving me with warmth that slowly dissipates,
I’m reminded by the cold darkness,
That the absence of light is not without reason,
In the hour that’s darkest you always return,
Reminding me its my turn to burn,
I pray to the lord, “Look after my angel”
And weep and cry, for I’m worthless to ask,
Will I ever move on, I have no clue,
But one things for sure,
Bibiji, I love you.”
To: The greatest woman that ever walked this earth
Duration of living: Forever.