I Wish I Wasn't Alone

Every holiday, me and my grandma would spend time together; baking, knitting, laughing, watching movies, and all the things every granddaughter would do with her grandmother. Holidays meant the smell of cinnamon, cardamom, and star anise wafting all around the house, mixer grinders on full volume whenever you’re sleeping peacefully, and the busy footsteps that pace around the house like a restless cat.

I would wake up and a delicious brunch would be waiting for me. In the time between lunch and dinner, snacks were made and passed on like candies and treats along with a dozen hugs and kisses. Holidays meant love, joy, warmth, and more than that, it meant holding your grandma close and wishing she would always be there to share all of it with you.

But this holiday, it was different. Smiles were replaced with frowns, laughter was replaced with tears, and the once full table was now empty with just glasses of water that were untouched. My grandma had passed away from cardiac arrest, but my aunt said she passed away peacefully in her sleep. 

That night I shed more than just tears; I was hugged by my grandma with grief, regret, and an unexplainable sadness. Forget the holidays, the normal days too felt longer, more tiresome, and greyer than sketches on the wall that my cousin had made of us.

I felt the walls caving in on me, the ground beneath me shaking, and the world spinning uncontrollably. It was as though I was standing on a land that would rupture at any given time. My heart was in pieces, beating faster, then beating slower. 

Wherever I looked, I sensed her. In the kitchen, in the corner where she would always sit and watch us with loving eyes, in the glasses she would use, in the bathroom where she would brush her hair and wash her face while making those weird burping and gulping sounds. 

And then, there were moments at night when I would just lay still on my bed, stare up at the ceiling, and cry because it was the same ceiling my grandma used to look up at. Her belongings and her clothes right next to my clothes were a constant reminder of her. 

The Christmas tree that was put up but never taken down because everyone was in mourning reminded me of her laughter and the stories that she shared about her family. As I walked around the house, I wished I had captured each memory of her. I wish I had made sure that she was in each memory of mine.

My grandma was closest to me, and I regretted leaving her and shifting to a new house. I regretted every single thing that I didn’t do and there was no one to stop my thoughts. I never shared my feelings with anyone as I felt I deserved this punishment of guilt. 

This gnawing feeling that It was my fault she died…this hurt and pain that I thought I truly deserved, it gradually became a part of me. It became evident in the way I spoke (or didn’t speak) and in the way I would act indifferently–only every so often smiling at a memory.

This time, as I walked down the lighted-up streets, looking at granddaughters holding their grandmother’s hand and making sure she was warm and happy, I would feel a deep pain in my chest. My eyes would sting and I would freeze for a second. Tears would stream down my cold cheeks and fall on the concrete ground that kept me stable.

“Grandma…” I would whisper in my bedroom, and only after I had done my fair share of screaming in the pillow and crying was I able to fall asleep for a little while. The house felt empty; forsaken. Every jingle of the bell shattered my heart, and every verse made me tremble. 

She loved listening to songs, but I could never get myself to play one, lest I fall down to my knees and let out a cry that would shake the world. Never in my life have I lost someone so close to me, and never in my life did I ever imagine spending my holidays without my one true friend.

My grandma was like a precious gem to me; she may have had her flaws and her messes, but she was still a part of me, and I a part of her. Losing her was like losing myself. For someone who used to walk with a goal in mind; I suddenly had nothing to reach out for. 

I thought I was the strong one in my family, but it ended up being the opposite. I felt raw, I wanted someone to hug me and tell me that everything was alright, but that person was long gone. I knew I now had to walk on this earth with a regret no one would be able to take away.

Not a second goes by that I don’t remember her face, or her laugh, or her smile, or the way she would look at me and call me. Or the times I made her angry…The good, the bad, and the ugly, everything is engraved in my mind. It would neither rot nor burn nor be forgotten.

I knew now as I laid on the side of my bed and stared at my grandma’s photo, that I would need to live my life alone…That every holiday I would need to go through this stinging, excruciating pain that would never leave me. 

I clenched my fists and punched my chest as I tried to let out all the anger and sadness within me. But they were locked shut for good. I couldn’t bring myself to cry anymore. Tiredness had got the better of me.

Do we ever get better? Do we ever move on from this sadness? Do we ever get used to this pain? I don’t know, but all I know is that next year, and the year after, it would just be me alone. While the world would light up and embrace the holidays, I would lock myself in the dark room and wait for the sadness to wither away.

There were so many unspoken promises that I wish I had spoken, so many unheard stories I wish I had heard. But perhaps when I’m old and six feet underground, I can smile for the first time in a long time, and fulfill all the days we had missed.

Until then, all I’m left with are photos, memories, pain, and guilt to keep me going.

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I had a dream last night. I walked to my bedroom and saw my grandmother sitting on her favorite chair. As casually as I always would, I walked over to her and hugged her tight. I was happy she was here, right in front of me but deep down I also knew it was just a part of my dream; something my mind had conjured up from all the bottled-up emotions in me.

I cried hard as I clenched her tightly, but her warm and comforting hands caressed my head, and the last thing I heard before I opened my teary eyes was, “It’s okay, my love, it’s okay. It’s okay.”