In Memory of
January is a strange month, full of birthdays and death days in my family. Since in Islam, the tradition is to hold prayers to commemorate (dead) loved ones, I feel like I should acknowledge these days. I pray less each day, each year for those who’d loved me.
If my grandma were alive, she’d turn 99 on January 30th. The first year she “missed” her birthday-5 months after her death, I realized that my grandfather died on January 29, 20 years before. What a horrible birthday that must’ve been for her.
My grandmother’s death was a shock to me in many ways. Her death (and not she) made me feel small in the face of loss, incapable of comforting another, naive regarding the gravity of grieving and unkind towards an elder. Grandma was so old that it didn’t really register with me that she wouldn’t recover, so in many ways I took those last few months for granted. In her own way, she tried to engage me in the spiritual discussions revolving around her imminent death. But she -in her ailing mental capacity-had very little trust in me, my age and my awareness, that I could comfort her in her pain. In passing grandma made me think about where I was headed in life. When my father helped lower her into her grave next to my grandfather’s, I had many questions about my burial. Where will I lie? In Istanbul? Somewhere in the United States? Who will I lie next to? Those thoughts are pretty scary, even though I am not rootless. I’m sure such questions haunt those who dwell as refugees on Earth.
Allah rahmet eylesin, nur icinde yatsinlar. They were wonderful grandparents.
