This happens to be my 100th post on this blog.
Never had I thought that I would have something to say, be able to say it, and express it in a way to receive responses from strangers all over the world.
My dear readers have given me this hope I needed, that my words are not in vain and that perhaps my creativity isn’t dead yet.
Every child shares a very special bond with their grandmother. It is said that the reason could be that they have a common enemy- The mother!
I shared one too, (not because of common enemity) she was the only one who loved me so unconditionally that I can still feel the warmth of her love.
9 years ago, she came to visit us. My dad was posted to the beautiful valley of Kullu in the himalayas so it was like a holiday everyday. She stayed with us for 10 days and fell in love with the place.
And then one fine day, she passed away. No warnings, no signs. Nothing that could have prepared us for it. She made tea for everyone in the morning, was busy packing for we were supposed to visit Manali again on her insistence, and within 40 minutes a person, a life of 68 years, A wife, a mother, a sister a grandmother, a friend, a confidant 6 decades of experience, simply crumbled into nothingness.
This was 9 years ago today.
As much as I try I cannot overcome the fact that she is no longer with us. I have an almost Eidetic memory. From the age of 1.5 years I have visuals etched in my mind about almost all unusual, special events. And the memories are way more detailed as I grew up. To my mind her death seems like an HD film with Dolby surround sound. Deliberately being played in slow motion. Exaggerating every movement, every sound, every last heart beat.
Memories give joy, but they also hurt. I feel blessed in comparison to my little brother who hardly remembers her. What is more painfull I wonder- Knowing someone and having to live with their pinching absence, but having memories and thus the pain. Or knowing that someone existed who loved us, but having no recollection, no memories and thus in not knowing a different kind of pain.
As a granddaughter I am blessed to have had those precious 11 years with her. As a sister I am glad that my little brother doesn’t have to feel the pain that I do.
But as a child I feel cheated of my happy childhood.
I dragged my family all the way to Kullu this year, to visit the house she died in. I had imagined in my mind that it would bring me solace, give me some closure. Instead I was shiverring and couldn’t bear going near that room. Needless to say I didn’t get the closure I had hoped for. Perhaps I never would. But it still felt nice to visit one of the places I used to call home. (I have had about 12 of those)
I have however started reaching a place where the absence doesn’t pinch. Wherever she is, I know she would bless me and be a part of all my life’s milestones. School, College, Graduation, I have felt her prayers and her love. Maybe one day I will reach somewhere where it doesn’t hurt as much. I know her love will guide me there. ❤
I don’t where you are,
I don’t know what to do
As much as I try,
I cannot stop missing you…