?I closed my eyes against the image of my grandmother, Afrose Mackhan. She was made still from death. It crept into her home like an intruder and snatched her out of our grasp. Her soul was gone and there was nothing there that was her but her features. Her essence was gone.
It was not something I wanted to happen but it was something I was being forced to accept. She was someone you could not live without. She was someone you would have to learn to let go. I did not want to learn to let her go. She is not dead to me. She lives on in the thoughts and memories that occupy my heart and mind.
I cried for what I lost, what I never had, what I would never know.
I stood above her, and thought about my father, who was hurting for her as much as I was. It made me cry more. Her image emblazoned itself into my brain and I remembered each detail of the instant that would be changing my life and I cried again–a part of my life had been taken away. When she was alive, I was unable to tell her the things I wanted to say; but now that she is gone, I am able to say whatever comes to mind. My heart was filled with anger, despair and a profound sense of sadness.
It is said that death brings to end a life but not a relationship and as I cried again, I realised that as long as I could heal, and feel the pieces of my heart reposition themselves, I could make amends in my soul with her, and establish a bond in death that we would no longer be able to share in life. It gave me a soothing feeling–one that moved you past your grief. Love is stronger than death–death cannot separate us from the ones we love and it cannot take away our memories of them either; and as my pain heals itself, I will find peace in knowing that my grandmother is okay. She would never be replaceable and her memory would be kept alive within me.