Our kind of "goodbye"

On that day, the weather was sunny and the skies were clear. I remember this because of how the sun shone on my grandmother’s pale, almost translucent skin. It was ironic that instead of brightening her face, it only seemed to expose the life slowly leaving her. I sat in front of her, beside the windowsill. We were the only ones in the room - everyone else already had their own individual conversation with her. However, as much as I wanted to talk to her, I constantly felt myself hesitating.

Her hospital room was so stifling. The smell of antiseptic, coupled with the white fluorescent lights made it seem formal and unfriendly -- the opposite of how my grandmother was like. Her home was warm and comforting, a place of refuge for me in times of stress. There was always a bowl of freshly-cut fruit waiting for me and occasionally a bowl of porridge if I was eating lunch. My second home was peaceful in all ways. It was quiet, decorated with pots of colourful flowers and bonsais. It attracted all sorts of birds and butterflies as if they knew that this was a suitable home for everyone. 

That place was gone now. Grandmother was in and out of the hospital so many times, the house was pretty much perpetually empty. Once this happened, the life in the house left with her, and did not have the strength to fill up the hospital room. There were attempts to liven it up with flowers but even those flowers were not sustainable and would eventually wilt in their vase - a horrible comparison popped in my head.

I started to fiddle with said flowers, trying to distract myself with their pretty colours and intricacy. I could feel her staring at me, but I could not bring myself to look back. 

She suddenly took a deep breath and said, “You should take care of your brother after I’m--”

“Yes, I will.” It was never polite to interrupt someone like that, especially an elder, but I refused to let her say that word or anything related.

“You’re a good girl, always have been. Strong as well. Almost unshakeable.” The only thing I could think about was whether she could only speak in short bursts.

“That’s because you were always there for me.”

“I won’t be there soon so--”

“Do you remember that time when I had ran into the glass door? It was so clean that I didn’t know it was there. I just blindly ran towards Dad. How stupid was I when I was younger,” I laughed forcefully. Grandmother just smiled and nodded.

“I think it was in France? We were there with Grandfather too, and the cousins. You were the only one that comforted me and listened to my whining,” I continued. 

She looked out of the window at the same sky that had distracted me before, in deep thought. 

“Do you want to look at some photos of the past?” I said, “Mum and I were just looking through them the other day. There are photos from our trip to Italy, Geneva, Australia, everywhere! I think I was very cute then, it’s worth it to look through them.” Grandmother smiled slightly and nodded.

I took out my phone and quickly found all the photos I had talked about and we went through them together. The minute we did so, it was as if we had entered another dimension. She and I were traveling the world, reliving the past. 

“This was when we rented a donkey to carry our picnic stuff to the lake inside the forest,” I said as I pointed towards my phone. “There was a random dog that kept following us as well, let me try to find it… Ah, there it is. It was hidden in the corner of the photo!” Grandmother chuckled slightly. 

“This was from when we went to Lac du Leman in Switzerland. It was really cold, but the lake was so pretty. In the middle of the lake was Jet d’Eau. Do you remember? This was at Disneyland Orlando. I let go of a huge and expensive Minnie Mouse balloon that Dad had just bought for me. He wasn’t happy at all I remember. This was from....” I rambled on with my commentary, trying to ignore the several glances Grandmother gave me. Despite my guilty conscience, every fibre of my body stopped me from letting her say goodbye to me.

However, I could not keep the act up for long. My rattling trailed off eventually, and I braced myself for the goodbye. But Grandmother said something I did not expect.

“What’s your dream?”

My mind blanked at that sudden question and it took me a while to respond. Did she give up trying to say her final goodbye to me?

“I don’t know yet.”

“You do, you just don’t know it. What do you want to do next?”

“I really want to travel when the pandemic is over.”

“Ah, that’s right. Even further in the future?”

“I want a nice family. Two children and a husband who will love me unconditionally. Won’t that be nice? You could visit our house when you’re older and my children will call you great-grandma or nana even. We’ll have a cat too, for you to sit with and read.”

“That’s nice.”

Another silence filled the room after I realised that I had made a horrible assumption, one that was painful to both of us.

“You remind me of me,” she said with a fond smile. “I hope that you will be happy… and live for a long time. When your grandfather died, I was so sad… But you, your brother, and your parents… You all made me so happy.”

Grandfather had left us a long time ago, and his absence plagued Grandmother ever since. I was unaware of her struggles until later on after this conversation took place though. Even after his death, Grandmother continued to shower me and the rest of my family with love. Realising her hidden struggles showed me that I had taken her presence for granted and that I had chosen to simply see her as a forever-happy figure that will take care of me. The pangs of guilt now made it hard to respond to her immediately.

Seeing my expression, she quickly said, “You and your brother always made me laugh. Playing pranks all the time, silly impressions of people… I am so grateful that you two are my grandchildren.”

My family and I were never used to such open declarations of love. We were the more, ‘quiet but we all know that we love each other’ kind of family, so this sudden praising session flustered me. 

“I love you, Grandma. But I also know that we bothered you a lot with our pranks.” The two of us laughed together, lightening the air slightly. She let out a little sigh afterward, and smiled at me. 

“Okay, my dear. I should go rest now.” I quickly jumped out of my seat and walked towards her. I tidied up the blanket on her slightly and helped her adjust herself.

“Yes yes, I will go now.” I slowly left the room and smiled at her at the door. 

That was the last time I talked to Grandmother. As a young, immature girl, I had stopped her from saying goodbye to me and I stopped myself from saying goodbye to her as well because it was too painful to accept. However, as I grew older and looked back on that day, I realised that we had both said our goodbyes. We did not say it explicitly, but “goodbye” was woven into each sentence we exchanged. We properly conveyed our love for each other, shared memories, and most important of all - we parted with a light heart. That was how our family did it you see: we really were a quiet family, but our love for each other was guaranteed.