It seems like a good day to leave. The sky the bluest of blue with no hint of rain clouds. The warm breeze sleepy and muted from nights of fireworks, rich food and merry making. The help gently removes the drip and oxygen mask.
You're home, says someone.
She smiles and nods.
She's really quite something. Never one to ask for help if she can manage. And manage well she did. Six children with offspring of their own, a grocery store and uncountable house pets. Illiterate she was, but she can speak Malay and a few dialects in Chinese fluently. After knowing the Lord, she surprises her grandchildren by learning to read the lyrics to her favourite worship songs - at the age of 80.
Her breathing slowly becomes laboured. Although the doctors say she will not be in pain, that her high toxic level will sedate her, it is still painful to see her fighting to be with us longer.
She cooks wonderfully. Never will I taste such beautiful soup. The strength that she demonstrates, the passion that she infuses into whatever she does will be my balm in difficult times. Shifting furniture and grocery goods to a new home 40 minutes away with just a pushcart and a few bicycles, helping to build a grocery shop and a home from scratch - if she can do all these, nothing should bring me down. Some of the determination must have been passed on to the grand-daughter.
The laboured huffs gradually become silent, then still.
I'm sorry I hadn't spent more time with you when I could, Gramma. There are still so many things I want to ask, like what did Grampa and yourself call each other, how was it like being in this new place without knowing anyone or the language when you first moved in and so on. But I'm glad I held your hand at the ward. I know you're the proper, shy type that don't hug or caress to show your love. Thank you for not pulling away. Thank you for squeezing my hand and smiling back at me, although I would prefer you to not shyly pull away when the other cousins came back. I should have done this a long time ago, then maybe I would have the courage to hug you and kiss you and tell you how much you mean to me.
The time for grieving and missing Gramma will come to pass.
Then it is time for rejoicing in her unity with the Lord and husband and other loved ones.
After all, our ending... is God's beginning.
You're home, says someone.
She smiles and nods.
She's really quite something. Never one to ask for help if she can manage. And manage well she did. Six children with offspring of their own, a grocery store and uncountable house pets. Illiterate she was, but she can speak Malay and a few dialects in Chinese fluently. After knowing the Lord, she surprises her grandchildren by learning to read the lyrics to her favourite worship songs - at the age of 80.
Her breathing slowly becomes laboured. Although the doctors say she will not be in pain, that her high toxic level will sedate her, it is still painful to see her fighting to be with us longer.
She cooks wonderfully. Never will I taste such beautiful soup. The strength that she demonstrates, the passion that she infuses into whatever she does will be my balm in difficult times. Shifting furniture and grocery goods to a new home 40 minutes away with just a pushcart and a few bicycles, helping to build a grocery shop and a home from scratch - if she can do all these, nothing should bring me down. Some of the determination must have been passed on to the grand-daughter.
The laboured huffs gradually become silent, then still.
I'm sorry I hadn't spent more time with you when I could, Gramma. There are still so many things I want to ask, like what did Grampa and yourself call each other, how was it like being in this new place without knowing anyone or the language when you first moved in and so on. But I'm glad I held your hand at the ward. I know you're the proper, shy type that don't hug or caress to show your love. Thank you for not pulling away. Thank you for squeezing my hand and smiling back at me, although I would prefer you to not shyly pull away when the other cousins came back. I should have done this a long time ago, then maybe I would have the courage to hug you and kiss you and tell you how much you mean to me.
The time for grieving and missing Gramma will come to pass.
Then it is time for rejoicing in her unity with the Lord and husband and other loved ones.
After all, our ending... is God's beginning.
1 comments:
deepest condolences. *hugs*
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