Plain Jane's World

My Mother's Mother

You passed away at 1 a.m. in Pakistan. It was 2 p.m. here in the U.S., and I was getting ready for my interview for the peer adviser position. I always wondered what it would feel like for a person when their loved one passed away. Would the person feel as if a small part of them flew away? Did my mother feel like that en route to Pakistan? My mother was six hours too late. She arrived at 7 a.m. I wonder if anyone I told you that your daughter was flying in to be my your bedside.

I hope they did.

Because she wanted to be there for you and when I called her when she arrived home, her heart was in pieces. The tears were holding back her words. I hope Mom never regrets her decisions like making sure her children had a good time in NY instead of staying at home and worrying what was happening thousands of miles away and what her brothers and sisters were keeping secret from her.

I know you're going to heaven. You deserve the best seat there. Mom was reminiscing and telling us of stories of how you took such care for her and us. Last December when I saw you, you were marveled at the fact of how much I looked and talked like my mother, your daughter. I was delighted. I love her. I love you. I had a feeling that month that this might be the last time I would ever see you, but I tried to get rid of that awful feeling.

I thought you would live to be the oldest living woman.

You were healthy.

The cancer came as a surprise. Cancer happens to other people. Strangers. People who I don't know. It shouldn't happen to people I know. People I love.

My mother's heart is broken. And so is everyone else's. Everyone is flying to reach home in time to see you off or drive to make it to your funeral. They will all sit in your newly renovated house in the village and cry over you and your memories.

You were a beautiful person, and I'm afraid somewhere down the line, I'll forget how you looked. The way you talked and the things you said. And how you had your signature pose always ready for the camera: one hand propped under your chin.

I hope I never forget.

posted by Plain Jane @ 12:49 AM