Just Human, My Late Grandma

I never knew a year could feel like yesterday till I woke up on 3rd February 2018 and I knew it was already a year since you passed on.

I still miss you, grandma. Tears settle in my eyes each time something related to your sickness crosses my mind. Like this morning, I saw a little bump on my foot. I remember hitting it against a table early on so I touched it to give a little massage but I did not feel any pain at all.

Early 2017
Flashback to January 2017. One of the days you tried to keep it calm like everything was alright. One of the days you were not much conscious of your surroundings. I realize your foot is swollen. “Auntie Naomi, do your feet hurt”, I ask “Oh No” you answer. I take a look at your hands and they are swollen too “ does your hand hurt too”, “oh no it doesn’t hurt at all”.

I then take your hands to massage. With you sitting in one of your favorite sofas in the porch, as I continue massaging, your eyes close gently. I ask if it hurt again and you say no. So I continue to massage with Shea butter to encourage blood circulation which would eventually reduce the swelling.

While doing this, I hold myself so strong in order not to break down in front of you, the same way I am trying so hard not to break down with tears on the keyboard as I type this out.
I leave to Asamankese feeling better that day. Until I see you again the following weekend.

Hope abounded me
I come home next weekend and you are way better. The swelling has reduced drastically and I hear it was from the new prescription the doctor gave you. You are speaking normally now.
I am pleased. I tell you, “I am happy you are feeling better”, you smile, oh that smile, it sank my heart. After all, I want you to be happy and be in no pain even to the day you decide to join our maker.

Thinking about it, I think that is exactly what happened on that fateful day. Oh, grandma, you didn’t hold on a little more for me to come to say goodbye on this fateful day.
This time, I have been gone for two weeks, knowing you are in good hands; my mother.

You always asked me to buy you avocados when I was coming for weekends. I bought three big ones. Who is going to consume them, grandma? (Lost in deep in thoughts).

Even as I broke down as soon as I was met with that news upon reaching the porch and seeing your favorite sofa, where you would sing the Hymns aloud and not care if you were alone, and the news of you passing a few hours before I get home.

Oh grandma, is that why this fateful Friday morning when I woke up I went for my kitchen scissors and cut off all my permed hair? Was that you urging me to let go when it was something I was meaning to do all this while?
Is that why I napped so peacefully that afternoon before embarking on my journey back home, around the same time you gave up the ghost? Well, I won’t grief anymore because it was your nature to console me and tell me everything is in God’s hands.

That you are free forever, no more trapped in a body of pain and distress. And oh the assurance you gave me one of the days about a pressing issue and told me not to worry so much, don’t worry, it will be our little secret.

I will miss those pancakes which made you famous among your grandchildren. And your okra soup, no one does it like you, Auntie Naomi. I will miss our little fights, your laughter, your friendly nature and oh your disciplined nature too.

Your were always calm
Your calm and collected nature that welcomed my guests won their hearts which they spoke of endlessly each time you came to mind.
Thank you for your living example of parenthood and taking care of your grandchildren as if they were your own children (we would never forget). Thank you for being a counselor that all and sundry were able to come to every time and thank you for being you; not perfect, just human.


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