A Year On.

I can hardly believe it.

It's almost a year now. It's been almost a year since I held her hands and realised that she was no longer breathing. It's a little over a year since my 'responsibilities' towards grandma halted. No more scheduling with the maid on when to wash her hair, no more accompanying mom to buy medical supplies that she would need. Everything just abruptly ended.

She was just lying there, eyes closed, like how she was many times when I visited her to wash her hair. She didn't look too different, but her hands were not warm anymore. She wasn't going to smile at me again when I talk to her. She wasn't going to know that I would be getting married to a man who would love me alot like she once said when she was admitted in hospital many years ago. She wasn't going to tell me random stuffs that momentarily stunned me.

She wasn't going to wake up.

I wish there was a way I could erase the memory of grandma slowly feeling cold as I held her hand.
I wish people around her would remember the things that she did for them and not the things they did for her.

On days leading to her death, I saw a lot of things.
On days following her death, I saw more.

To this day, many things were said and done, and I ask myself, God, teach me how to not judge and just love. But God, why? Why would someone go to a funeral of another to talk ill about another person? Was my perception of the funeral of a person that warped? If you have nothing nice to say about the dead person, at least show basic respect and not talk ill about another? Why would things come to this extent when some of the burden should have been shared?

Forgiveness.
Magnanimity.

I couldn't be bothered.
I'm more interested in capturing every memory, good and bad, I had with her.

Grandma was a great lady. Great not because of her cooking almost all meals every day. Great not because she bought us snacks and stickers when we were children. Great not because she sat me down and gave me some money to spend.
Grandma was great because although she grew up to be quite a rebel, she sacrificed all she had for the family she built with grandpa. She was so independent, so independent that when I wanted to hold her hand while she walked, she refused to allow it because she was independent like that.

My memories with her are still fresh in my mind. It feels like she never left me. I can still remember the way she talked, the way she walked, her temper, her funny moments, her sad moments, her gossipy moments, and her loving moments.

I don't know what I can do for her other than what I did when she was alive.
And for that, I am thankful. I am extremely grateful that I was given the opportunity and I took it.
I was given a chance to serve her, and I did.
I'm glad she could see, I'm glad she could hear, I'm glad she could feel.

More importantly, I'm glad that despite she had a stroke, and despite she could not move for years after the stroke, she continued to inspire me.