It’s
your birthday today. You would have been seventy-nine years old. I am
standing here again in front of a birthday cake and you are not here.
I am looking at it and I don’t know what to make out of my
feelings. I am an emotional mess. I dreamt about you last night. You
didn’t let me sleep at all which is okay; I love when you visit me
even this way. We are all here, pretending, like it’s a happy
occasion. We could not imagine how hard it would be without you here,
though the grief has lessened with years. Celebrating your birthday
as if you were still alive is our way of keeping you in our thoughts
and our hearts. We blow out your candles and sing happy birthday to
you, hoping you don’t mind. I can see tears in your husband’s
eyes. He hurries and quickly wipes them off so others won’t see. He
whispers with a choking voice, “My dear wife, I miss you so
deeply.” We all sit down at the table and have a delicious piece of
your birthday cake. We talk about you, how you were, what you did for
this family and the forever-lasting memories that you left in our
hearts.
We
have all lost someone at some point in our lives; maybe you were too
young to recall your emotions or just didn’t understand the concept
of death. That heartache that springs at you all of a sudden and
grips your throat when you hear a familiar song, reminds you of the
loss. I was there myself. I was six years old, when I first
experienced the loss of a loved one. Even though I was told that my
grandmother was not coming back, I still did not understand why. My
grandma’s house was full of people, yet so quiet. People went and
came. Few words were exchanged, mostly nods, deep sighs and silent
hand gestures. I was amongst my mother and my aunts, who were all
slumped in one corner. My mother was being held up by her sisters so
that she would not fall down. I was hiding behind her, clutching onto
her skirt. Every once in a while she would run her pale, shaky hand
across my hair and let out a choking sound. I would stick my head out
to look at women around me. Their eyes were swollen red with tears on
their ghost white faces. Some of them would whisper from time to time
and they all looked like reeds in the wind, gently rocking from side
to side. I felt pain, though not like the pain when I broke my leg
for the third time or when I got a new doll. This pain was “quiet,
deep,” somewhere inside where it has not hurt before. I saw through
my eyes what many other children have seen and probably didn’t
understand. Have we been scarred for life with moments like this and
punished to relive those memories and moments just by losing another
loved one?
Three years ago I
found myself back at this place sooner than I ever wanted to, when my
other grandmother passed away. This time I fully understood what it
meant that someone “is not coming back.” At first I felt
disbelief, then anger, then pretty soon grief set in. The pain that
throbbed in my heart fueled my anger. I would yell out, blaming
others around me. Angry emotions were gushing out of me faster than I
could catch my breath. I was mad at you, at your soulless body, for
“leaving me here by myself and being selfish and dying.” I wanted
to grab your shoulders and shake you as hard as I could, hoping that
this would wake you up and bring you back to me. As the tears were
pouring down my face blurring my vision, I remembered that scared
little girl clutching onto her mother’s skirt. I fell down by your
bed, conquered by loss. All I thought was that I will never see you
again. Never hear your warm voice, or touch your smooth skin. Never
again.
It felt like a
nightmare from which I could not wake. I refused to let go of you.
Who gets the right to take you away? All that is left are memories
and the fading smell still lingering on your favorite scarf. Is that
what we are after all? A once familiar face on a photograph,
unexplained smile on our faces, and never-lost memory? Over time the
pain got number. It did not “blare” in my chest any longer. I
learned to live with it, or that’s what I keep telling myself. I
refuse to drive by the place where you took your last breath, and
where I held you last. It still aches too much. It is even difficult
going over to grandfather’s house. He has not moved a thing since
you left. All furniture, tablecloths, curtains, dishes—they are
still where you used to keep them. Even though I do not want to admit
it, it does somehow feel relieving being able to touch and see
something that you once loved and held. This I believe will lead me
to a closure.
I miss the days
filled with your laughter and never wanting to leave your side. I
could always talk to you about anything; you would listen and never
judge. I loved every moment I spent with you. Silently I blame myself
for not spending more time with you. That is one of my biggest
regrets. Our restaurant lunches after your dialysis treatment that we
kept as our secret, but somehow they all knew it. I still go there
but not without a big sigh and constant thought of you. I wish I
could just have one more chance. Time passes all of us very fast; we
will never have enough time. We say things, do things in the heat of
the moment and we never get to say sorry. How you taught me to cook
your favorite cookies, taught me to respect people, and also at the
same time to stand up for who I am and never forget it. Telling me
that people make mistakes, people will hurt those they love the most,
unknowingly, but they will. Be the first one to admit your mistakes
and apologies. How you smelled of your favorite sweet perfume, wore
your red lipstick, and would never apply blush on your cheeks.
Instead you would smudge a dab of your red lipstick up your cheeks.
How you carried yourself proudly and were proud of all of your
children. Your hands were so gentle and soft like no one else’s.
Your love for flowers and pearls. You loved your zinnias,
chrysanthemums, peonies. My sister got your green thumb. She grows
your favorite flowers in her beautiful garden and showers them with
love and affection like you did once. I enjoy them all, especially
when she takes me and shows them to me with a sparkle in her eye, and
she says: “Remember our grandmother used to have these in her
garden?” As I walk amongst them, I run my hand across the leaves,
feeling for the sturdiness of zinnia leaves. I stop, bend down and
inhale. Instantly, I am taken back to my childhood. I can see you
standing there, holding zinnia flowers in your hand, gently turning
them and saying: “Look, how pretty my girls are.”
Any time I hear how
much I resemble you, I get the biggest smile on my face and this warm
feeling washes over my heart. I am sad that you will never get to
meet your great-grandchildren, but they will remember you from the
pictures and stories we tell of you. They will point at your pictures
and say, “Nana.” I hope you are smiling right now, because I am.
My house is filled
with photographs of you, us, our family. I find myself sometimes
looking at them and remembering those moments before we took the
photos. I smile while remembering. I will never forget that moment
when you left us, the feeling and silence in the air followed by
tears. The moment that made us get closer as a family. The way I will
look at pearls and your favorite flowers secretly while thinking of
you for the rest of my life. Keep your advices, and not giving up so
easily on people that cross my path and learning to let go. Your
passing has caused me to be a better and bigger person. That it’s
all right to cry and show your feelings from time to time. That I
will still have those moments of happiness and sadness while I am
thinking about you. That it is ok if I don’t have the courage to
visit your grave as much as I should have. Eventually I will get
better at it. With every day passing me by, I learn to let go of
things and just think of today and the happy moments. I know I can’t
bring you back but you can still keep on living in my heart. After
all I like to believe that this is something that you would want me
to do.
