My grandmother died a little over three weeks ago. She was sick for about a month before–not really sick but her body was failing. But until five months before she passed away she was living alone at ninety two — proudly and fiercely, taking each day as it came despite the fact that she could barely see and was almost deaf and needed a walker-frame to get around. Sure she had help: my father, my sister, and her youngest sister lived not too far away and showed up the minute she called in sick. But the choice that she made to live independently was her own, a choice which she protected right until the very end, when a fall in the bathroom required hospitalisation and then a permanent move to my parents’ house.
To live independently is one thing, but as I look back what was most admirable was the generosity of her spirit. Every few days if not every day, people would drop in to have a cup of tea, to chat or just to be with her. Mind you, this is to share the company of a woman who refused to wear her hearing aid, which meant the entire neighbourhood heard your conversation because the visitor always needed to sit close to her and yell so that a conversation could be carried out. These conversations could be about anything: from world news that she wanted to be filled in on to a recipe that someone needed from her, or simply her observations on child rearing. A lot of it was also about her sharing memories of times long gone. But people came by, and looking back I am amazed to see that they were all friends. My grandmother doesn’t come from a generation where friends were a priority; it was always family that was supposed to be the centre of her world. But even here she made friends, and when we gathered one evening shortly after her passing away it was a joy to realise that everyone there was precisely that – each a friend of hers.
I spent a lot of time with her growing up so perhaps it is not surprising that I was close to her; many in my family say that I look like her. I don’t know if that is true or not but what I think I came away with on that evening is the realisation (yet again) of how much she was loved, and that the true basis for this love was really the generosity of her spirit. She wasn’t always the most kind, most loving, or uncritical person out there; in fact we all had at some point or the other gotten into major arguments about her. But nothing was personal and this woman did not love anything more than a good chat, time spent together and coffee/ tea or nimbu pani (or panha!) to accompany it. I miss her dearly.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Asmita. Sounds like your grandmother lived her life to the full, til the end. Condolences to you and your family.
Thank you Marisa.
Reblogged this on PetSitters, Pune… Our blog and commented:
My sisters blog. I don’t think i could have worded it like her ever.
A beautiful piece of love and remembrance. Thank you for sharing this.
Thank you Shikha.
I am very sorry to hear about your loss. This is a lovely piece, and makes me remember my grandmother, who I lost in May last year (she was 93). We were overwhelmed after she passed away at the number of lives she’d touched when she was alive, both in Canada (where she moved in her 60s) and in India. Thank you for sharing your story.
Gayatri, I am so glad you wrote. Thank you for sharing your story too. I suppose the ‘missing’ never really goes away, does it?
I am so sorry to hear of your grandmother’s passing. She sounds like a lovely person. I am sure she was content, having lived her life independently and on her own terms. Unfortunately my Mom had to go to a care home due to the progression of Alzheimers. My Dad we were able to keep at home till almost the very end; I think he was happy & though we were not 100% efficient, content to be in his own home. Funnily, the cat took on the chore of companion as he became increasing ill. Much aloha. Li Ann
Thank you Li Ann for writing about your parents. Sometimes pets can be the best companions I suppose –like kids non judgemental and in that very loving.
This is a lovely tribute to a grandma who sounds like a great woman. You made me laugh with the conversations for the neighbours comment.
Sorry for your loss Asmita
Yes, it’s awfully quiet in her building now 🙂 Thank you Shelly for your message.