It's the curse of the ageing population.
Like flies everyone drops off one-by-one in the race of life. Well at least she had a great long one, triumphing above most of her competitors like her husband. At least she dropped off considerately, effortlessly, quietly.
Then conversely from how she came about, she left without a beep. Lying stoically with the absolute air of sleep, I saw her. Pale from the late afternoon rays and cold from the slights in the room. Hands folded politely over her abdomen, a posture of regality and elegance if she were standing. A headful of wise hair blown back from the long sleep she was having. I stroked them, they were soft and silky, the perfect conditions for a shampoo ad. Fragile like a baby, she left. My palms stopped short of the unsightly bruise that had reappeared on her forehead, crowning the band of the cerebellum. I cringed. 'Give her a break,ills',I thought. Moving down, her eyelids were pursed shut, like a kid's thin-lipped pout. Such a gaunt silhouette. And something caught my nonchalent gaze.
Her eyelashes were clumped with moisture. Tears.
She had known. And something clamped at my chest.
Reasoning took over and it unclamped. She had the knowledge of death, at least fear wasn't there. Then I figured, no one liked to leave. But it wasn't because of death that scared one, it was the disattachment from relations and the knowing that you would reach there first with no one to cushion your fall from above. No matter your age, there is a love-hate sentiment that is conjured with the world, to leave it is pulling the skin of yourself out, conscious.
I palmed her hands. They were cold. Looking down at where we touched, the image of life and death contrasted starkly like an edited picture. The pumping veins, her stale one. The plump fingers, her skeletal ones. The taut skin, her loose ones. Like an ageing onion, the topmost layer was the one we detested and peeled away to reveal life and freshness beneath.
I kneeled. I vowed to have a living funeral. I looked at the part of me lying there. The evening rays were emerging, casting a melancholic light upon my grandmother. She had lain long enough, it was time and she knew it. I touched her earlobe. My heart was muddled. I got up. My mind whispered a last call to her. And then they took her away.
I love you Ahpo.