The 31st of August. I was woken up by my mother skittering around. She was rushing to the hospital. It was something I had never seen. We expected it. We knew it was coming. But it was a dreary Friday outside and the candle in front of the photos had flickered out at some point last night.
My grandmother, after her early morning bath, left this world. We joke, she was waiting for the Friday or checking the bills or something or other. She waited till her bath, she must have told my Grandpa Ben Bhagwan to wait, just wait, she was coming. She even shocked the doctor who had given us the "few days left" and she gave us about a week.
Strong. Passionate. Quiet. Creative. Amazing. Beautiful. Just... there's so many words for her but none of them really encapsulate who Rachel Ayesha Bibi Bhagwan (nee Yusuf?) really was. But she was, simply, my grandma.
My grandma who had me over for Friday night sleepovers. She's let me hang out as a little one shirtless as I watched cartoons and made dough. She would put me to sleep, be there, offer advice and guidance through her actions... she amazed me as she worked a room at a pinktober event last year. I saw her guide a woman out of a violent marriage without even a harsh word about him (out loud really).
As I sat in the church she was baptised and married in for her funeral, I did reflect on my own sense of faith. I dont know if I really have one. I dont pray. I find it awkward. I dont know who to thank, get angry at or question about all of this.
"Why her? Why didnt we find out about the cancer spreading? Why didnt she tell us how she was really feeling? Why did she compromise her own health? Why? Why? Why?"
Im not sad. I miss her, fuck, I miss her so much. But it was weeks before she passed that I actually got to see the woman who moulded me into what I feel I am today. Sometimes I daydream about the soft clink of her bangles, her high noted humming and singing, her longwinded cooking, her teasing way... I miss you but I dont want to.
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