it is simple. granny's going.

tonight, dusk.


hey blog, long time no see. i didnt have much thoughts that i wanted to write down. 2020 so far, has been mildly irritating, rather than truly provoking or even really enraging. but here we are.

my granny's dying. 
tomorrow would be just about 4 weeks since she went into a local hospital with colitis. but with prolonged stay and consequent isolation from everything/everyone (she hardly speaks english), and covid-19 protocol making it impossible for any of us to really go in and see her,  

i feel that she's decided to curl her tails and get ready for the end.  after all, from the autumn equinox, to the winter solstice, it's a long gradient of 'end.'

there were much phone chasing, 3-way calls, the usual immigrant family logistics when navigating complicated settings. it was unpleasant. and that is okay. but somewhere during that time, she's turned a corner, and now she's slowly disappearing.

she's out, and back to her home. and she is no longer hungry. may be thirsty time to time. the doctor is changing direction to palliative care. and there she is, getting smaller and lighter.

the universe around her, or rather, her own universe, is shrinking. all the stories are being gathered together, and being compressed into a dense, small thing- a memory. a death of a star. collapsing.

fam's went to get done covid testing to see if we can go see her. she's not uncomfortable, not really in pain. she's probably waiting. waiting to see us go on, then i think, she will go.

it felt so noisy till this eve. somehow, it did clear- this isnt complicated or noisy. it's simple.

she's getting ready to die and i am going to let her die in my mind. least resistance will let me see how it really is. what 'it' is, isnt too crucial.

there it is. 

i will look back on this day and think,

i donot know yet what i will think then, but for now, i think:

granny's dying.
a small person, gathering her universe, and wrapping it small and tidy, soon to be a feather.

Comments

  1. Suzanne CroneOctober 23, 2020 at 8:00 AM

    "It felt so noisy till this eve." Death, loss is the hardest shift, and it's so clear that you love your granny so much. Love to you, and thanks for letting us in with you here. It's an honour.

    ReplyDelete

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