For most of you, as a child, you expect your parents and your grandparents to live forever. You don’t question it, because you’ve known them since the day you were born, and you don’t know a life without them, because well that had never actually happened. For me, I know better than this beautifully painted ignorance. People die. My mom did, and that was just over 13 years ago. But just because I know better doesn’t mean I don’t have that naive belief anyways. Though I know it probably won’t happen, I expect my dad to be around to see my kids. And I expect my dear, dear grandparents, both Appachan and Ammachi in Katode and in Edamun; to live, for the lack of a better word, forever.
Well that’s one belief crushed.
18th of July, 2009; my maternal grandfather Mathew passed away.
I last saw him 3 years ago. And I remember that he would complain about us watching T.V. and say that it was the devil in a box. I remember when I was probably in grade 2 and I went to visit him, and there were all these Rubber Trees and he was making the sheets of rubber to sell them. And there is this huge photo of my mom there, and every time I go there, my grandmother bursts into tears and my grandfather says that we should’ve grown up in Edamun. And every time I go, Sam uncle says I look just like his big sister, my mom. No parent should live to see their children die. It just isn’t natural. That leaves us the pain of watching the parent, grow old and die, all this time; never forgetting the precious child that they lost.
I don’t remember my mom at all. As much as it pains me to say this, 5 years ago, when I looked at photos of my mom, I asked my dad, “Is this mummy?” and he said no. That was my aunt Lizzy. I couldn’t even recognize my own mother. Well, I can now, but the point is I don’t have a connection to her, and thus, I don’t have as much a connection to her parents as I do with my dad’s because I grew up with them. Stacey, if you’re reading this, I’ve talked to you about this- I have less connection to my maternal family because… well here’s why I end up keeping in touch with my paternal side. Moncy uncle always calls, and we always call him, because he’s so close- and we' always end up seeing each other. He’s the ‘funny uncle’ and everyone gets along with him. We were never close to Shiny Auntie, or at least I wasn’t and Rennie Papa is like another dad because I used to see them a lot in India, and Pheebe is one of my best friends. On the other hand, Jessie mummy and Lizzie mummy lived in England and I never saw them. I talked to Ronnie once, but after he passed away, I think our connection Jessie mummy was even less. I saw Jose uncle enough, and Johnny kutty uncle as well; but I think with Johnny kutty uncle, it’s a bigger connection to Stace and Stan, and our endless phone calls. I talk to Sam uncle like once and year and so yea, that was basically it. I mean, it’s probably awkward enough for them to call me since mummy wasn’t alive and Daddy wasn’t usually in Canada, but I never had the initiative to call either; which was a big mistake on my part.
Wow I ramble a lot, the point I’m trying to make with all this is that I’m going through a guilty phase at the moment. My grandpa lost my mom, and then all he had of her was me and Josh. Josh is just a little kid, but I should’ve kept in touch and told him, ‘hey, I know you exist, I care'. I do care, I remember him, don’t get me wrong! I know him and I remember him well; but I don’t remember him the way I remember my grandparents from my dad’s side. I remember little snippets, not the last time we went shopping together and whatnot. It’s just, now that I think- what if he spend his last two years (in bed rest), not having anything to do, and thought of his life, and my mom, and her kids. Did he wonder if we were okay? Why weren’t we calling him? Why weren’t we there? Didn’t we love him? I was too young to remember what they were like when mummy passed, but I saw, and still see the amount of pain and suffering that Jessie mummy goes through because of loosing Ronnie, and Ronnie was 15. And grandfather went through this for 13 years. And he had a connection, which was us- but we were too lazy and stupid to care and remember that our grandfather, the oldest of all of them, even older than my great grandma, was sick, and he loved us, and worried, and had suffered greatly. If there was anything I could do, I would. But I can’t. Because its too late and he’s gone now.
What I’ve really learned from all this is that I still have 3 grandparents left- and I shouldn’t really be taking them or granted, because you never know. Everybody has this invisible timer on top of them, and its inevitably going to reach 0, so I’m not going to think I have all the time in the world to keep in touch, because I clearly don’t.
Life and Death are in the hands of God, but the things you do in Life, well that would be your own choice. So it’s my choice to grieve my grandparents or not, and I refuse to keep doing it.
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