They say, “Time heals all wounds.” I disagree.
Time only teaches you how to keep living life. The wounds remain, hurting you and becoming obstacles in your path, time and again.
It’s been 9 months and 17 days. But I’m still as hurt as I was the first day. I still cry myself to sleep numerous nights. I still get nightmares and wake up in the middle of the night, screaming.
Would you say these 9 months and 17 days have healed my wounds? No, they haven’t. At all.
Instead, I now miss her more; I now realize her importance in my life more than I ever did. I know feel her absence in my life more so every single day.
I miss her. I miss my grandmother. She died on 15th January, 2011, 2:30pm approximately. She left us after struggling against numerous ailments.
The term “grandmother” is absolutely perfect for her. Because to me she was truly that- a grandmother. More grand than a mother. With whom I shared my life, its every aspect and its every moment.
She named me when I was born.
She taught me how to walk, talk, eat.
She taught me how to live life.
She encouraged me to study harder when I was failing.
She knew things I couldn’t tell even my mother.
She taught me how to stitch and to sew. But she left before teaching me how to yarn.
She told my sister and I bedtime stories, making them up as she went and forgetting them a few days later.
She fought against everyone in this world for me and my sister.
She taught me to stand up for myself.
She was the one who knew about my first menstrual cycle.
She taught me to win against all vagaries of life.
She made up the funniest PJs to make me laugh.
She watched late movies on tv with me when my parents were scolding me not to.
She gushed about Shahrukh Khan and Ranbir Kapoor with me. But she left me before hearing me rave about my latest crush, Ali Zafar.
She’s also making me cry right now.
We had the perfect family. My grandparents, my parents, my sister and I. Completely even.
Now we are odd and totally shattered.
I’m sure you’re all familiar with the life story of Gautam Buddha. For those who’re not, he was the son of KingSuddhodana , fromsouthernnepal. He had never seen or known sickness or even death.
Similar to his story, till last year I used to live in a bubble which had my family living with me forever. I’d honestly, never imagined anyone leaving me. For the love between us all was beyond such petty imaginations, or so I used to think. Of course we had our share of fights but they hardly ever lasted more than a night.
That day in January still seems like a nightmare. It was one actually, seeing her lifeless body being taken away in that red shroud. That image of hers will haunt me for all my life.
In her entire life, every single thing that she did, taught me something. How could her departure not do so?
I now know to never have expectations from life. To be strong and live without fear. To be prepared for every setback that is waiting for me. To stand firmly in the storm.
The wounds are still here. As fresh as ever. Time has not even come close to closing them, forget healing. Circumstances and people throw buckets full of brine on it occasionally. Yet, they say time will heal all.
P.S. it may seem a highly depressing post, but so is my life.