Saying Goodbye

My grandmother died about three weeks ago. It wasn’t sudden, she had been ailing for quite some time, but we still weren’t ready. I don’t think anyone but her was really ready to see her go. I haven’t cried yet.

I’m told that she related talking to her own mother at the end, telling my aunt, her caretaker, that her mother was coming to take her home. In the end she said her goodbyes, calling each of her children to her, the ones that were able, for the comfort of a hug, or just to have them near. I guess when she left us, it was with a measure of peace. I can take some comfort in that.

But today is her funeral. Today it all becomes real. She will never teach me to make bambulla (cassava bread), or how to use a yabba (an indigenous clay pot) to create the flavors she was able to. She just won’t be there. You know?

And I’m sitting here, dreading the service, dreading seeing her all layed out, seeing her return to the earth. I’m terrified.


3 thoughts on “Saying Goodbye

  1. Perhaps, Michelle, that says more about your own issues with death than fear of her passing and funeral. I only say that because I TOTALLY have that same reaction about death and dying. It sounds like she had a good death. But that’s not going to be me. Death is going to have to drag me kicking and screaming from this world.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I think in a way it’s because I always took for granted that she wouldn’t be there soon. So I kept putting off things I wanted to ask or learn because, even though she was sick,” she’s only 79 she ain’t going nowhere” you know? But it does give me peace and she found peace in the end, and that I can think that she’s with all the family we’ve lost over the years. I can only hope I can have that kind of assurance when my time comes.


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