The past few weeks I always think about my late grandmother (who passed away last October). About what she would say if I confided about some things that are going on in my life. About how she would inject some sarcasm or light-hearted jokes into any situation. About how I loved playing with her fingernails. About how she liked to scare me whenever I touched her thick toe nails.
About many things.
What triggered it was my grandfather’s visit to Singapore who slept over at my parents’ place because of a wedding reception invitation the next day. It was likely the first visit since my grandmother passed away.
I have never imagined them separated. My grandparents were always together. But when my grandfather came over that day, the scene was awkward for me. Seeing my grandfather now solo, the fact that he is now solo, was awkward for me. Somewhere inside me was unconsciously waiting for my grandmother to come and join him.
But of course it was not possible.
My relatives and my family still talk about her as if she was still alive. They were always delightful and funny stories about her, and these stories are always my source of comfort because they remind her of how funny she was.
I never forget her last words to me before the incident happened, it was a reminder for me, and it was during Hari Raya. Unfortunately, when she said it to me, I took it so lightly, that now I find it a struggle to act upon the reminder.
I miss her a lot. My friend always tells me that whenever I remember my grandmother, the least I can do is to recite Al-Fatihah for her.
I always pray for you, Nenek. I miss you. I pray that we will meet at Syurga one day.