You are no longer with us, but will always be loved…

She left her belongings behind, taking only the necessities along. The ones that she would need over the next four months. Her loved ones stood around her, their tears flowing freely, in their hearts an even bigger vacuum was created. Just like a bride leaving her home, leaving her family behind. But this time, she would not leave joyfully, with hopes and dreams to live a new life with her husband. She was leaving because her husband had left this world…

After forty nine years of marriage to my grandmother, my granddad passed away on the 2nd January 2009. They lived a life of hardship, taking on responsibility from a young age. Although their lives were never filled with material riches, they were blessed with a greater kind of wealth, they had happiness.

On the 6th of December 2008 my granddad was admitted to hospital, diagnosed with pneumonia. He left home smiling, wearing his grey Winter gown. He walked towards the car, and in all the pandemonium, my mother and gran rushed him off, not stopping to greet him. My mother regrets it now and says that when they left, then only did she realize her mistake.

My sister and I were involved in the catering of a function that Saturday. We received a call later that afternoon with the news that my granddad was admitted to ICU, but did not realise the gravity of the situation. There was a buzz of activity and we were so engrossed in what we were doing that we literally didn’t have much time to focus or think of anything else other than the work we were involved in. We got home at 12:45am on Sunday morning and sat with my father discussing the days events. It wasn’t until later in the day that we realized just how serious the situation was.

Exhausted from the previous night’s activities, I was about to take an afternoon nap when we received a call from my uncle. He was panic stricken and demanded to speak to my father immediately. We rushed off to the to the hospital as the doctors said that grandad’s kidneys were going into failure. On arrival, I noticed my other family members alight from their vehicles and walk towards the escalators. No one said a word and their faces were devoid of any expression. Everyone was in a state of shock.

My mother got to the hospital before we did and when I entered, her face said it all. We thought that it was his final moments with us. I entered the ward, along with my younger sister and was taken aback at the sight of my grandfather. We stood for literally ten seconds and rushed out. I could not see him in that state. I remember walking on Hospital Street hand in hand with both my mother and sister. The tears were flowing freely, as we walked in a state of helplessness, enveloped in an air of melancholy.

In the following days the doctors said that he was improving. We all anxiously awaited his return home, but days turned to weeks and weeks turned to almost a month. Twenty seven days to be exact. It was like a rollercoaster. Some days they said he was getting better and other days, that his health was going down. Sometimes we would be on top of the world, bathing in the light of hope. Gloom would characterize other days, where we thought it was the end.

I always thought that I was a strong person, one who could control my emotions well. But not this time, not in this situation. On the odd occasion that I would visit my granddad, I would come out crying, unable to contain my emotions. He was sedated practically throughout that period and I didn’t want to see him in that state, with tubes and other unknown things attached to his frail body. I preferred to stay home and pray for him.

My family gathered every night at my grandmother’s house and we would pray for the recovery of my granddad. It became a daily ritual. We would eat together, then spend the rest of the night in light hearted conversation. We never thought that my granddad would not come home. As much as it was a reality, it is something we never thought possible.

On the 27th December was my grandparents 49th wedding anniversary. They planned to go out for a meal together. How romantic, after so many years of being together they still wanted to make that day special. We expected granddad to be well by then and kept telling gran not to worry, their plans would still materialize. But the day arrived and he lay in bed, unable to talk or make much contact anyone. It was a very emotional and sad day…

Friday, the 2nd of January arrived. It was an unusually beautiful day. As I walked outside to hang the load of freshly washed clothes, I stood for a few moments and looked up at the sky. Wispy clouds were etched against an azure sky and the balmy weather attributed to an even more lovely day. Both my mother and I noticed the tranquility of the day. After the Thuhr prayer, my mother said that she felt so calm and at peace. She felt as if granddad were going to get better, as if things were going to be ok and he would come home. But what came home that night was his janazah…

After lunch mummy and I sat for almost an hour talking about almost everything. We spoke about our lives and I told her about my dreams and hopes after getting married. She shared with me stories of her life, regrets, hopes and about other things in general. She gave me invaluable advice as always. We talked about my grandparents and talked about granddad in particular. It was a serene, joyful afternoon spent with my mother, the weather still holding up, enjoyable as ever. Little did we realize, that it was the calm before the storm.

We didn’t plan to visit granddad that day and said we would go the following day. A phone call arrived from my cousin saying that granddad’s organs were going into failure and we should come to the hospital immediately. They said the same thing before, so I didn’t think much of it. We arrived at the hospital and was surprised to see that the nurses allowed everyone into the ward at once. They work strictly on only allowing only two people at a time. Was it really so serious, could it have really reached the end? My cousin went to fetch all those that didn’t come to the hospital that day. Eventually we were all there, surrounding granddad’s hospital bed and stood in shocked silence. The doctors said that they could no longer do anything and in the next 48 hours it would probably be over.

I cannot recall how long we stood there. I just remember the heartache being so visibly expressed by everyone, their tears of pain, the possibility of losing someone we love so dearly. The machines on either side of the hospital bed kept on beeping. On the right, a red bar flashed repeatedly, indicating that something had reached a very low level. I couldn’t make out what it was and wasn’t sure what it all meant. I can still clearly hear the beeping in my head and know that it is something which will forever haunt me.

We were told to say our final goodbyes. To hold his hand for the last time. It looked so fragile and I was afraid to touch it. I whispered a silent greeting in his ear, the last I would ever talk to him and told him that I loved him. I will always love him, even though he is no longer here. He passed away approximately forty five minutes after we left the hospital.

The tears flow freely now and I am making no attempt to stop it. Thinking of those last moments with him, knowing that I will never see his beautiful smile, nor touch him, hug him or hear his voice. I wont make him another cup of tea or serve him ice-cream. He won’t eat the cakes I send for him and gran. I won’t see him all over the neighbourhood. He won’t bring me my mail, and be excited with me for my latest issue of Getaway. He won’t be here when I graduate. He won’t be a witness when I get married, like he did for all the others. He will never meet my husband or love and play with my children. He won’t spend another Ramadhaan with us. I wont see him ever so beautiful on an Eid morning, clad in his crisp white kurta, the light emanating from his handsome face. He won’t be here…and I am going to miss him dearly.

Granddad passed away between Asr and Maghrib on a Jummah, in the month of Muharram. According to the Islamic date, he passed away on the death anniversary of his mother, thirty two years later. He was the youngest of eleven children and I was told that his mother really loved him a lot, being the baby of the family. His janazah was brought home for only 35 minutes and was then taken away. It was the shortest time that I have ever seen a janazah being brought and taken away. He was buried at 10:30 that night. The time of his death was so blessed, everything about it and I wish that Allah could also bless us with timing as perfect as his.

I know that he is in a better place and pray that he is in Jannatul Firdous. It is always difficult for the ones who are left behind. Allah is Most Merciful and has even more mercy on the sick and the old. Those who have left this world are at peace and are happy where they are.

I was never one who believed in true love, but my grandparents epitomize true love. Looking at them, I have hope and pray that what they were blessed with, Allah will grant it to me as well. I think back on the kind of person that my grandfather was and now look at him as a role model. I want to emulate his lifestyle, his ways and qualities. He was a man loved by all, and loved by Allah no doubt. I want to be as special as he was and want to also be remembered and be loved so unconditionally, even when I am no longer in this world.

Today, the 15 January would have been his birthday. He would have turned 73. But he is no longer here. All we are left with are his memories…

Nana, I will love you forever and ever! I pray for you daily and hope that you are happy where you are. You are missed by all, especially by your dear beloved wife. You will always be special to us and will be in our hearts and thoughts forever.