Previous blog - Letting Go Of The Past
I DID one of the hardest things I ever did in my life in December (2005). I buried my paternal grandmother.
Now it wasn't hard for all the obvious reasons.
We had to mend some fences before she died. She became seriously ill sometime in September while I was vacationing in New York. I didn't think much of it. Actually, I did not even want to know about it. I tried to distance myself from it.
We had to mend some fences before she died. She became seriously ill sometime in September while I was vacationing in New York. I didn't think much of it. Actually, I did not even want to know about it. I tried to distance myself from it.
You see, I hadn't spoken to my grandmother in maybe two years. Sounds horrible right ? Well I felt I was justified in doing so.
The story is, an incident occured in which I believed she was facilitating my father (her son) in continuing an extra-marital affair. It hurt me that someone I loved and admired and respected would have done that to my mother. I held on to that for two years until October 2005 when she was admitted to the hospital.
I remember going to see her the first time and remarking to myself how thin she had gotten. I was almost afraid and embarrassed to make eye contact with her. I had to confront my feelings of the past 24 months and also deal with the fact that this matriarch was about to pass on to another place.
I tried to lighten the atmosphere by asking her if she was pretending to be ill. I looked into her eyes and knew she hadn't much time....we hadn't much time.
The reality hit me right there and then that we, or I, wasted two years of sharing like we used to. When I would go to her house and listen to her tell stories which she told over and over as if it was the first time she was relating the story. They really were good times. I cried for many nights just thinking.
Anyway, I continued to visit her at the hospital until one day she told me that she wanted me to read the eulogy at her funeral. I tried to steer clear of the subject of death. But she was one who was always prepared.
It was only after she died did I address my mind to the task ahead of me. I felt unworthy of carrying out such a task. Together with my cousins and other relatives, I went about putting thoughts, feelings and memories together. I think she would have been happy with the final product.
The day of the funeral I carried my grandmother's coffin from her house to the church where she attended for more than 30 years. The irony that she walked the same path for so long, and was now being carried, was not lost on me. I cried all the way.
I struggled through the eulogy. It was therapeutic for me to pay tribute to this remarkable woman.
At the cemetery, I stood up and applauded her when she was being lowered into the earth. Dust to dust once more.
The point of this is...let us not wait until its too late to recognise and remember the good in those who did us wrong.
Life is short and we've got to make the best of it.
Keep loving and living.
Peace :-)
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