I got news from Dad that his mother passed away this morning.
I hadn’t seen my paternal grandmother in years because I’m overseas here in Australia and was always coming up with various excuses to not travel back. The last time I visited and saw her was quite a few years ago. She was not always happy, but looked well enough.
She was alive.
I never felt close to her. The one event with her that I remembered particularly well happened many years back. We had a dinner event of some sort at my family’s place with several relatives and cousins over. I was the only female cousin.
We were all lounging around while dinner was being cooked by the domestic helper (we’re spoilt). Mum was in the kitchen to make sure the domestic helper was doing everything correctly.
That’s when Grandma asked me to help in the kitchen, with a disapproving face that suggested that she thought I should have done so already on my own.
She asked me to help in the kitchen. Me alone. Not any of my other cousins — male cousins. I didn’t react well to that.
The one event with her that really stood out to me was negative.
I was at work and wasn’t quite sure how to react when I heard the news. I didn’t think I was upset, and I was quite bothered by how calm I was.
That’s until I broke the news to the colleagues then the tears just started to flow. The finality of death.
I’m worried about Dad. Grandma was very dear to him.