Empty Spaces Fill Me Up With Holes...

I never thought I would blog again.

I never thought I had anything to write about.

Time and time, my overactive imagination proves me wrong and once again, here I sit with a flurry of words flowing through my mind. Kind of like Matrix.

There were times when I truly wanted to pick up where I left off with this blog but I let my head rule my heart. I've learned that sometimes, it was better that way. It was better to clamp down on emotions rather than express them.

To say that my 2009 sucked would be abhorring. I have never lived with regrets and I never will.

There is so much I have to say to get off my chest --or my head, depending on who's the more dominant at the moment.

I'll start with the obvious elephant in the room.

It may or may not be known that my grandmother left our family to be with the Almighty late last year. December 1, to be exact. I have two grandmothers. One, I'm not so cool with. Our relationship is like a piece of stale bread. Boring. She has so many grandkids and great-grandkids, she probably doesn't even care anymore.

I can't even say the same for the other. My grandmother --or Nanny, as we all call her-- was my world. You know how people would worship the ground one walks on?? I worship the food she cooks for me. Out-of-this-fuckin'-world delicious. The kind of food that would inspire one to talk to said food before devouring. "Ohh, hellooo there, you honest-to-goodness chicken wing, you. If I could swallow your bones, trust me, I would." It was insane.

Nanny was never like any other grandmother. She was a fierce matriarch of our family and there probably wasn't anyone who hadn't gotten some form of reprimand from her. I know I had my fair share of whiplash. I was her first grandchild. I was bound to get it some way or the other.

I tell you, that bond is some serious shit. It stays with you for life. For me, it, anyways. I always found myself returning to the place where I was born, where I grew up and where I would find comfort. It was my "running away" sanctuary. Running away from whatever ailed me into my grandmother's welcoming arms and open kitchen.

I can't begin to say how much of an amazing woman my grandmother was. I know people always say their grandparents were amazing people too, but Nanny was a different breed.

How amazing, you ask?? I'll tell you. She almost single-handedly raised all 8 of her children by herself while working full-time as a teacher. She bought her two-storey home --the house that's currently standing, after 40 plus years-- with her own hard-earned money. She had to deal with multitudes of setbacks when she wanted the place renovated in time for the family's triple wedding. Of course, you could count on her to sponsor part --or most-- of said wedding.

No, she wasn't rich. At least I never thought so. Because all I saw was, whatever she had, she gave. Do I think she's perfect?? No, of course not. I know she has flaws. I know. I don't see her in rose-tinted glasses. But I hope that in her afterlife state, her flaws will be smoothed over with the good she has given to us, insyaAllah.

The memory of her death is still fresh and raw in my mind. It has only been three months, after all.

I had suddenly awoken with the urge to pee badly. I got up and relieved myself and thought I heard the phone screaming into the silence of the night. I ignored it. But it wouldn't stop ringing. Fartz was still up from reading. I asked if she was heard what I did. She nodded. But she said she refused to pick it up because she was scared.

I thought, fuck, something's wrong. I could feel it. Because a phone call at 2a.m. in the morning could only mean one thing. Someone was dying or already dead. I sure as hell didn't want to answer it. Because in my gut, I somehow felt that the worst was about to come. And in waves.

Mom came by after the ringing had stopped and a long, heavy silence ensued. The whole phone call thing had ruined my mood for going back to sleep. Somehow I can't remember the exact words Mom said, but it was somewhere along the lines of Nanny, hospital, who's coming with me.

I couldn't, I've got work. So, Fartz went. It kinda sunk in, the gravity of the situation, but at the same time it didn't. I laid in bed for a long time with a blank mind. It was only until Adlonso came into the room and confirming Nanny's death that a spurt of reaction kicked into my system. Shit, she was really gone. I turned to my side, facing the wall and tears threatened to spill. I thought about how long it had been since I'd shed any eye juice of any kind. I predicted that the day was going to be an out-and-out bawlfest.

I remember sitting up and drafting an email to excuse myself from coming to work. Numbness began to set in as I readied myself. Fartz came home. Her eyes were red. She recounted on what she'd been told about Nanny's death. I have to be honest here. Until now, details of her death are blurry to me. And I would like to keep it that way.

Fartz couldn't her voice from cracking as she told me the story. I, on the other hand, wasn't listening. I couldn't seem to. I was operating on autopilot.

The drive to Nanny's seemed to take forever. You could scoop the tension in the car with a soup spoon. This was as real as it was ever going to get. Nanny had already been brought home because there was no need for an autopsy. Some relatives were already there, reciting prayers for her. Her entire body was covered in white cloth as she laid motionless on the bed.

Again, I refused to react. I didn't know how to.

We sat ourselves encircling the bed and started to recite our prayers. A few feet away from me, two relatives decided it was time for a chatchit. You're at a funeral and you've decided to play catch up?? If my grandmother's corpse could take one last breath just to see the two of you chittering away, she'd give the both of you one tight slap each.

Rude.

My breaking point couldn't arrive too soon. As Dad led our family into our prayer recital, his voice shook and he broke down. That one motion, that one choked sound was all it took for me to realize that she was really gone. My grandmother, the glue that held us together, the one force to be reckoned with had passed on. Nanny wasn't even Dad's mother. And yet, there he was, trying to carry on reading to complete the prayer book. I had never seen Dad in that state before.

Emotions bubbled out uncontrollably from my throat as I did nothing to fight my tears. Nothing to fight the extreme loss I felt from within. Years of swallowing all that bitter emotion came crashing down in buckets. I had made pushing away sadness and sorrow into an art form. And now, it all came back to haunt me.

My grandmother did not live to see any of her grandchildren get married. My grandmother did not live to see a fourth generation in the making. None of which she mentioned she wanted to see when she was alive. All she wanted to see was for me to lose weight. And she was more than willing to spend on me too. Only I wouldn't have it. Not because I was too proud to accept her money. It was more of too ashamed if all her money were to have gone to waste. Because God knows she had given more than enough to those who never returned.

I wasn't going to be any of those.

We managed to make it through our prayer book. I slogged through it in between bouts of relentless sobbing. I was chugging out years worth of tears; I wasn't going to stop anytime soon, I knew that.

Halfway through, an incident occurred. An elderly lady hobbled into Nanny's home with her walking stick, saw her body lying lifeless on the bed. She let out a despairing wail and collapsed into her son's arms. She was a fellow teacher and Nanny's best friend. Nanny and her were supposed to have tea together at the house and have a catch up session --like all best friends do, I suppose-- the day after. A day after just happened to be a day too late.

Everything after that moment is a blur to me now. Right up until they brought Nanny's body into the kitchen for her last bath, a must in every Muslim funeral. Well, except in Jihad warfare --and I mean the REAL Jihad warfare, not the nonsense they're spouting out these days-- where they bury the body just as it is.

When the time came to give Nanny her bath, it was an obvious and natural decision that I was one of the female family members to help. Not because of filial obligation or anything like that. No. It was because I wanted to. She was my grandmother and as a granddaughter, I would be honored to take my position beside her. Besides myself, Nanny's sister, Mom, my aunt and my two cousins worked alongside the professional corpse bather.

Actually, Nanny's sister was a wreck and had to drop out halfway. My aunt had pretty much let the rest of us handle whatever that was needed to be done.

And I have to say, bathing my grandmother was by far the hardest thing I had ever done in my entire life. I haven't lived a long life, but this already ranks up there and I think everything else pales in comparison.

First of all, it is heartbreaking that you are handling someone you love with so much care that you are so frickin' afraid they might break into a million pieces with one wrong touch. And yet, they're dead but you still feel that way.

Second, your mother beside you is a weeping wreck who's trying her hardest to pull through this entire misfortune and you don't think you can be strong enough for the both of you.

Third, everything is cold to the touch. And you can't help picturing that one fine day, this is going to be you.

Fourth, every other time you look into their cold, ashen faces, your eyes can't help but well up at the very notion that this was the very last time you were going to see their faces. That you can't believe they're no longer in your lives. They were such a big part of you that you can't imagine them not being there ever again.

Fifth, as you wrap them with white cloth from head to toe and the professional corpse bather asks you to kiss their hand for barakah --or blessings--, you gather all your willpower just to contain the tears that threaten to spill over your grandmother's cleansed body. And then you reach for her icy fingers and you press the gentlest of kisses, refusing to let go. Because when you do, who knows if that would be your last touch??

After the experience, I feel that you don't truly know what it's like to be in the presence of your dead loved one until you really get a hands-on opportunity and be at close proximity with a corpse for one and a half hours. Only the God Almighty would know.

Once Nanny had been wrapped and scented with jasmine water and flowers, it was time for us to pay our respects. My uncles took their turns sprinkling jasmine and orchids over her neck and bent down to kiss her. I awaited my turn and did the same. But I could not tear my lips away from Nanny's forehead. I felt a tug on my foot, someone was actually shooing me away. I think it was my uncle's wife. I wanted to take the nearly empty tray that was used for flower petals and boink her with said tray.

I thought, what, so now I can't pay my final respects and say goodbye to my grandmother?? Like you have more right than I do?? Ugh, in-laws.

My youngest uncle was the last to pay his respects and in his hands, he held his Netbook. My aunt from Cairo was on Skype. As he brought the compact device forward so my aunt could see her mother clearly for one last time, an audible cry of despair pierced from the laptop. My uncle brought his Netbook to my grandmother's ear so my aunt could say whatever she needed to say.

It was unbearable.

One thing was for sure, my grandmother's death attracted a huge turnout and my heart felt lighter than it did before to see all these people coming from God knows where!! I was sure somewhere around the house, Nanny could see all these people turning up to offer their prayers and condolences to her. She was truly well-loved.

My sisters and I were part of Nanny's entourage to her new home, the cemetery. Mom wasn't so fortunate because she had to stay at the house and deal with all the home affairs. We were there with Nanny until the end when the gravedigger piled up the final layer of sand and soil and we watered it down while sprinkling the remaining flowers.

One of the hardest parts for me to heal was how I wasn't able to tell anyone about my grandmother's departure. Aside from my family, no one in my circle of friends knew. First, because I didn't know who to tell. Second, I didn't know if I had anyone to tell it to. I didn't know if there was someone who would lend me a shoulder. I wasn't expecting anyone to do so. I was dealing with the pain myself and of course, I had to put up a strong front for my mother.

In the end, I told Lawra and Rosz but I didn't see the need for a shoulder.

Two weeks after her departure, I had a minor falling out with Mom while sitting in the train on the way home. I was so annoyed, I wanted to complain to my grandmother about her. Then I realized, I couldn't do so anymore. Because she wasn't there for me to complain to.

Without warning, I started to weep silently in the sardine-packed train. I jumped out at Simei and I dialed the next best thing. Lawra. When she finally answered, all my pent-up emotions just rolled off my shoulders in an outright bawl. Lawra thought I had just gotten beaten up by some thugs.

I kept apologizing. It was the first time since the funeral that I really let everything go. Like, EVERYTHING. All the silent tears became noisy sniffles. It was horrible.

Almost five months have passed since Nanny's departure from us. It is still raw, it is still painful. I never thought I would be rocked to the core that hard. I thought I had buried my emotions in so deep that I would be immune to this. I still cry at the mere thought of my grandmother and her fiery orange hair.

I don't think I could ever establish a relationship that had such meaning and significance such as the one I had with her. She understood me in every way imaginable. Even if she didn't, she would still be my silent pillar of support, or even humor me just because. Not even my mother could do that.

If there is one last thing that I could say to my grandmother now, it would be to tell her that if I have a daughter, I hope that the relationship she has with her grandmother a.k.a my mother, would be exactly like what I shared with mine. Or even deeper.

My grandmother is in a better place now. For all the times that I've missed her, I'm glad that she's there too. And I know that one day, we'll see each other again.