(III)
The first thing I have to say about my grandma is that I miss her. We’re only a 20 minute drive away from each other but she’s got her hands full with my little cousins and I’m constantly preparing for some exam.
When I do get the chance to be with her and hug her, I want to stretch time forever because I know that she too, forgets the everyday burdens she carries on her shoulders. Her strength is inhumane, heroic, a quality she has passed down to my mum and one I hope I’ve also inherited.
Her smile is warm, brighter than the exhaustion battling on her face: my grandpa’s death has permanently scarred her. She’s not ashamed to let us see the tears streaming down her face because she’s thinking of him, of the youngsters they used to be, the adventures they had... But somehow, she manages to turn on the lights to dissipate the darkness of her suffering, kick back the blanket she was huddled under, dress and get ready to face reality once again. What else can you do against the memory of a stage four cancer that was devouring your husband’s insides?
It makes me mad angry that this grief she has been cursed with, may never disappear completely. I wish I could erase these moments, the bad ones, she’s forced to remember with the photographs decorating the living room. It’s an unnecessary punishment for such a good woman. I’m a worrywart when it comes to my grandma, I can’t help it. I just want her to regain normality, which is why I should call her on the phone more often. To remind her how much I believe in her, cheer her on, how important she still is to me or just for the sake of hearing her lovely voice.