So, I was taking the local subway a couple of days ago and saw this elderly lady knitting a sweater. Totally effortlessly, like it was easy as breathing. I was just mesmerized by it, and all I could think about was my grandmother.
My grandmother passed away over 4 months ago now. She was old, her health was declining, and it was clearly coming, but it's tough anyways. She knew (or at least, to me, seemed to know) a little bit on how to do anything. She knit all the time, and in fact used to knit me sweaters for years and years. And she could cook and bake, and every time we went to visit her, she would bake us these pastries that she knew my brother and I loved. She could play mah-jong like there was no tomorrow, and she loved to watch those Chinese soap operas. She was energetic, and full of life, and despite the fact that she was over eighty and spoke very little English, established a life for herself here in America after my grandfather passed away.
But the years clearly took their toll, and slowly, she got a little bit more infirm, a little bit more confused, a little bit less like herself. For the year prior to her death, she was in and out of the hospital a few times, and still she managed to push on, past what would have been expected. In December, though, she got a little bit worse, just slowly, not so much that it wasn't something we'd seen before, and then she got just slightly worse than that, and a day later, she was gone.
We mourned, we moved on, but in some ways, we really don't (or at least, I really haven't). I really didn't see my grandmother as much in recent years; I lived a fair distance away, and usually I only saw her when I went home or on holidays. But now, I see an old woman knitting on the subway, and I think of my grandmother. I see pastries in the window, or mah-jong tiles, and I think about her. And it's just a sudden sharp swelling of grief -- I *miss* her -- and then it dies down again. It really hasn't changed much since December, and I wonder: is this a different type of grief? Is this grief that follows you forever?
I also wonder, sometimes, if it's not still because I'm angry. Because although she was old, although it was getting to be her time, my mom and uncle still tried to contact her doctor when she first became a little bit sick. And got a busy signal. Every time they called. Later they were able to leave a message; by then, it was too late (it was the day she passed away), but her doctor never called back anyway. Not that day, not a later day, not after learning she'd passed away. In fact, the only call we got from the doctor's office was from the clinic assistant reminding us to bring her to her appointment, 5 days after her death. And I try to let it go, because it's not important now, and it probably wouldn't have made any difference then, but I can't. Most days it's just buried, but when I think of my grandmother, and I think of how she died, I'm still angry.
And I think, "Maybe if I put the words down on the page (so to speak), I'll finally be able to let go, and just remember how wonderful and unbelievable of a person my grandmother was." At least I hope I'll be able to.
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