twenty-six -- grandma

Today marks four years since the death of my grandmother, my dad's mother who lived with us since my childhood. She was a fiercely independent, headstrong lady -- not without her flaws, of course -- whose heart was full of love and cookie jar full of treats for her granddaughters, even after she stopped working. Moreover, Grandma was generous in her prayer and work; bhajans always playing in her bedroom and the sometimes thick smell of incense. Bill Clinton was her favorite politician and her carrot cake was the best. (Okay, and rasgullas too. And sugar cookies. And muffins. And...) When I was very young, she used to transcribe the stories I dictated to her and even wrote my favorite letter of the time - "W" - over and over again when I asked. There were a few years where she returned to India. My sister and I still have her letters - careful script on blue airmail paper addressed to us, still little kids wouldn't quite read.

There were times, especially when I hit my teenage years, where I was rightly frustrated with her when I learned more about her, more about the grandfather I'd never met. In many cases, though, that teenage anger was misplaced and I often regret some of things I said. But like my mom, Grandma would forgive, put away her own hurt, and love us the same. My sister and I would wait eagerly for the nights Mom and Dad went out; that meant we'd get a rare pizza party in the house, with my Grandma around.

Near the end, when we knew she was probably not coming home, she'd always call me her little doctor. I could tell which days she wasn't feeling so good by holding her hand. "Squeeze my hand as tightly as you can, okay?" Sometimes the grasp was strong, other times her hand would fall limp. Before all of that, when she still was in the house, I'd scold her for the chocolate ice cream bar she'd sneak out of the freezer.... especially since she had diabetes. Yeah, one of her biggest hopes for dad was that he should be a doctor -- and he could have, easily, he almost did. Still, I sometimes felt for a while that I had to be doctor, just for grandma. (Sorry, Grandma, I gave that idea up sometime in 11th grade.)

At her funeral, I admit to feeling numb and unaffected, the thought of her death not fully realized. Tears couldn't be summoned, but I was crying on the inside. The service was beautiful and the support from the community, great. It hurt to watch my dad press the button to ignite the cremation. It was a plain warehouse; people didn't usually hold cremation ceremonies there. It didn't feel right.

Grandma had been in and out of the hospital and into the hospice for so long that year that it didn't feel like she wasn't there with us. With regard to her passing, I didn't feel anything for a while. Life moved. But there were times I would acutely feel her absence or acutely feel her presence. Maybe exactly two or three months later, I broke down after marching band rehearsal and started bawling. Couldn't stop. One of my best marching competitions that season, I could feel her watching.

And life moved. It really did. For a while, I felt like our family was fractured, irrevocably changed in subtle ways - I mean, she did live with us since... forever. Laughter didn't come so easily and we were all fighting about little things. Sometimes it feels like Grandma left us just recently, other times I feel as though it may have been ten years ago. Four years have passed since then, I think my parents have finally come to terms.

After all, if you think about it in terms of Hinduism, we're all Happiness, all part of One. She is the same Happiness and I am. So, while I do sometimes miss you a lot, Grandma, I think I've broken that attachment to that body that was you. I still have the memories, and a love for you, my family, and life in general which is a lot more eternal.