Death. Peace. Inspiration.

My grandmother passed away today.

When I found out, I cried so much that I couldn’t breathe. Any thought, any mention, any sweet condolence that was offered to me, made me cry even more.

I observed myself while I cried. It wasn’t the cry of heartbreak from a man who hurt me, or that of excruciating physical pain. It was raw, unthinking, clean crying. I had never experienced this type of cry before. I wondered how long it will last. There was no anger or desire to stop. Just observation of something, maybe letting go.

My grandmother was strong, smart, and stubborn. She could knead dough as well as women half her age, remember the name of your mother’s cousin’s daughter’s son – and which village he was from, and tell you over and over again, that she could do it. She could do it. Anything.

I was lucky enough to spend 10 days with her in October while she was sick. I was bedside with her days at a time, then we brought her home on Diwali, thinking everything would be fine. I could only imagine her own heart break and resentment when, in those last years and months and days, she could not do it. She could not walk, or swallow, or breathe. Her heart continued to love, lecture, and pray, but her flesh was done. Her heart was outliving her flesh. Believe me she was angry, and she tried to fight. And she would get so sad. I would hear and see her depression as I watched her with her walker during physical therapy. Her poor, deep eyes told her entire story.

She almost ate my turkey sandwich, even when she knew it was meat. Shakti. She said, if I don’t eat, “Shakti ni thai,” I won’t get strong. And after a life of being religious vegetarian, she was down to have a bite of my turkey sandwich. In hindsight, what did she have to lose, she was dying anyway. I never gave it to her, I knew her, she wouldn’t have liked it anyway. C’mon, it had no ‘havad’ or ‘flavor.’ She proceeded to finish the rest of her own vegetarian meal.

Ba, as we referred to her, taught me to see the good things about being Indian, the power and importance of prayer, to be there for people, to cook, and to take care of myself. Thanks to her, my rotis are round and they are light and fluffy.

There is death.

There is peace with death.

Today, I was inspired to share because of death.

May god (or your version of the higher power) bless you today.

In memory of Ba, Tuesday, November 10^th, 2009