| Jun042009 | My Father’s Mother |
My grandmother passed away sometime during my first night back in Melbourne.
When I landed in Australia, my parents said we’d visit her at the nursing home next weekend. No rush, she wasn’t at risk or under any immediate threat. Dad was to take her out for lunch with her friends. That night, there was a big family dinner planned but grandma wouldn’t be there; we’d all decided it was too late and too crowded for her. Plenty of time to see her later.
8:30am the next morning, my dad got the phone call. Mum came home from work; her fear of getting personal phone calls at work confirmed once again. My girlfriend and I came back from breakfast some time later that morning and got the news. My first instinct was stoicism, my second was to squeeze my father’s shoulder.
I followed my parents’ lead. Grief was put aside and we discussed matters. My parents have each arranged a funeral and the plans was put together quickly. Whilst my grandmother was not terminal, she was frail and had deteriorated quickly in the past year. To varying extents, we were prepared for this.
Things rolled along. I continued my vacation and caught up with friends. My parents informed relatives, dealt with the medical professionals, and before long, a funeral was put together. After the death of her husband, my grandmother had made her wishes clear and there was no arguing over procedures or finances. On a Friday night, six days after I’d landed, I was staring at her casket.
My grandmother was a fierce and resilient woman. A terrifying mother-in-law, a queen of guilt trips but a tough, adaptable survivor that I was proud to have in my life. She and grandpa would take me on the bus to school. They spoke barely a scrap of English but together they carved out a independent life in Australia. Whenever they went out, they’d bring us back dumplings or McDonald’s. Long after I’d grown wary of junk food, they’d bring back McDonald’s. McNuggets taste weird when they’re eaten with a mixture of guilt and gratitude.
It’s been over a decade since my grandfather’s passing. It changed my grandma a lot, made her bored and restless. As her mobility and her memory slipped away from her, I recognized her less and less. Nevertheless, in these 10 years, she’s had the opportunity to witness quite a few things that I wished my grandpa could have seen: countless grandchildren growing up and go to university; two adorable great-grandchildren; my moving to America.
In many ways, I’m sad that I didn’t see her right away and if things could have played out differently. But these doubts are small and easily wished away. More than anything, I find comfort that I could be here for my family, that she’s no longer suffering and that the family she’s left behind and the remarkable life she’s lived is nothing short of amazing.
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