Life Goes On- An Obituary.

Naani and Us. About 2007-2008. She was too sick later.
Naani and Us. About 2007-2008. She was too sick later. One of the last snaps I have with her.

The heart wrenching reality is that people, they go, and they never come back. We wait for seconds, minutes, hours, days, months and years before the finality that they are never going to come back crashes on us and that weight… That weight at that moment is the heaviest on our shoulders.

My grandma passed away yesterday evening. She died. We knew she would but it was so sudden and so quick that here I am, typing what comes into my mind. And truth be told, you know what bothers me? It’s not that she’s dead, but the honest realization that I’d never see her again.

That there would be no person who’s huddled in the corner of the room when I enter my naana’s room. That their would be no person who prompts the multiplication answers. That there would be no person to scold me without any fault of mine. No one to call be dead in the noon when she knows I’m asleep. That my naana would have no reason now to not come to my house. That is what bothers me.

My naani had Alzheimer. Her’s was so bad for the past one year ten months, she had been bedded, and was fed through a tube in her belly. She couldn’t talk. Couldn’t walk. In fact, it would be a treat if she ever even grunted at your calls.  So, we knew that day would come sooner or later. We knew and we struggled with the fact that each passing day lessened her life. And now, she’s gone.

It’s cliche to here that someone’s absence means more to us than someone’s presence. Unarguably, its true. As I said, I’m more saddened of the fact that I’d never see her again, than of the truth that she’s dead. That’s pretty mean but that’s what I feel.

If there ever was a person as courageous as her. And she was an ever smiling person. She was one of the most kind and sweet persons I’ve known. And she didn’t like sleeping late. I remember, when we were younger and used to stay at her house in the winters, we’d stay up late, talking to each other meanwhile she used to sleep at 10 sharp, The next morning, she’d open the doors of the room, letting the cold, biting air of a January morning bite your flesh and crawl at your skin. She’d take away the blankets as well and would serve all of us half slept children hot tea. We’d curse and she’d chuckle at our sleepy faces in delight.

She means early January mornings-half asleep eyes-cheerful while others are angry- hot tea to me. Just tea. Every person means something different to all. I may be a blogger to some of you, a sister to some, a daughter, a granddaughter, a friend, an enemy, a stranger, or simply a sixteen year old to others. Identity crisis, right? She simply meant early cold January mornings tea to me.

This was my first death among many more to come. We have to face the truth. We’d all die, there’s no use denying it. Yet, it has affected me deeply. It’s taught me something that even elders have to struggle with at some time in their lives. It’s taught me the basic idea of all lives. And I know when my time comes, I’d find it difficult to accept too, but I’ve learnt. It’s been a day,  but I’ve learnt. I’ve learnt that people leave. But life goes on…


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