I suddenly want to cry. I suddenly want to hug her and tell her I miss her.
Four minutes before six in a coffee shop eleven kilometers away from home, I am all by myself sitting in a table with a glass of iced latte and my Psych book. I’ve been here since 4:30 and I am happy that I am actually studying. I have finally proven that studying in this particular coffee shop, in this specific table is quite more effective than studying at home.
I am in page 197 reading about Elder Abuse. There’s physical abuse, psychological abuse and…. I stopped, stared at the lady on my right through the glass windows, counted the vehicles that passed by the busy street. I miss her.
Odd how the topic elder abuse led me to missing my grandmother who just passed away a little less than three months ago. It reminded me how the family fought to keep her alive. It was the line “fear of edginess in the presence of family member or caregiver” which set my mind to remembering her last days in the hospital.
There she was struggling to breathe on that hospital bed with a number of pillows tucked everywhere to keep her from having those inevitable decubitus ulcers. She gestured for us to come near her, to just be beside her, tap her arm, caress her hair, sing or hum to her. With eyes closed, I know for sure she wanted to feel that we were there, even if she can’t touch us in return, even if she can’t smile back, even if all that she could do was to listen and shed a tear.
I miss her. I don’t think of her all the time, honestly. But these moments, when some things instantly pop into my head and then there are flashes of her, glimpses of those very vivid moments… they just make me so down in a snap.
So I say a little prayer and finally tell myself that wherever she is right now, she is happy, peaceful and happy. And again and again and again, I reminded myself that she lived a very fulfilled life. Wherever we are, whatever we do, we still have her in our hearts. She will be forever loved.
And I look again at the busy street, grab that glass of now “melted-ice” latte, set aside my yellowpad and pen and take out my Psych book again.