i don’t really know why they say that “time heals all wounds”. time doesn’t heal, it only lessens the pain of something. but to heal a wound so deep and so painful, it doesn’t. the wound still remains open, still a mark, a scar that you can either choose to be proud or ashamed of.
nine years ago I lost woman that I loved & cherished with all my heart. she never got to see me grow up from a child to a mature young adult, much too fast for even me to comprehend. she left me behind, to a much better place to be rid of suffering and pain and everything she was fighting for. she was my mother, and i was proud to have her as no one else’s but mine.
i never thought that almost exactly nine years later i would lose the deepest love of my life, my grandmother. my grandmother, who outlived both her daughter and husband. my grandmother, a woman who led a simple life without complaints, without hatred for anyone, without troubling anyone. my grandmother, a woman who sacrificed much more than she had to for the sake of others. my grandmother, albeit illiterate, was a woman who was wise beyond her years, in her heart, soul and mind.
maybe i’m in a stage of denial right now. i don’t seem to want to talk about it, but i yearn to find someone who i can talk about it to. but then if and when i find the person, i’m not really sure what to say either. no words can express this void that’s grown twice its size in me. i can’t help but feel an irate towards people who ask if i’m okay because i am certainly only hanging there, maybe i just don’t show it so they ask to make sure. it’s not their fault really, but i dare say i can find no one who’d be okay in such circumstances.
nyai was my life, my second lifeline after mama left. i felt that she was the only person who’d be there, that she’d even outlive me maybe. i felt that she was the only one i had left, after my mom had gone. sure i had my dad, my sister, and a whole step family whom i love very dearly, but my love for them can hardly be compared to my love for my grandmother. the woman who brought me up, against all odds. the woman who saved me from my first suicide attempt when i was not even six.
she was a great woman. a pious woman full of character. she taught me right from wrong, and though i am hardly ever religious, my conscious stems from her. her words, her reminders, her teachings, her advice. even when i knew i was starting to lose her as she grew older, more frail, she would always surprise me with her sudden moments of sharpness and focus.
i miss her voice, her laughter, that unique amusement about her, that twinkle in her grey eyes. i miss her touch, i miss touching her, i miss her hugs. i miss her, far more than anyone can and ever will comprehend. my love for her grows more than a love of a grandchild for her grandmother; she was my mother, my father, my family all in one. she was a woman who had my utmost respect, a woman whom i can never forgive myself for any wrongdoings to, a woman whom i never ever dared to raise my voice to.
she was my grandmother, whom i loved and cherished, more than anyone. she still is my grandmother, still is my greatest love. and without her now, i really feel lost.