A Year

This past week marked a year since my Grandma passed away from ovarian cancer.

To mark that I'm sitting with Keith drinking a vintage release Cabernet Merlot called "Annie's Lane".  It caught my eye on the shelf and it was a little more expensive which she would have thought was a terrible extravagance so I bought it :).  I always enjoyed that feigned exasperation she would send my way when I would be a little over the top - it was always outlined with the smallest hint of a smile and hidden approval.  It was a very charming quality of hers.  

This time last year was so awful it pains me to think about it.  I found out that she passed away the night before flying to Toronto to participate in a gruelling prep course for the dreaded Royal College exams.  I was a mess.  I mostly kept my composure but it was obvious to everyone that I had been through the ringer.  Sometimes when it's obvious a strong person can't seem to stay strong anymore people tend to rally. I walked through Toronto airport with my red puffy face literally surrounded by my Muslim friends in a protective cocoon.  They were all speaking Arabic and my incessant asking "where are we going?" made my friend Khalid fearful that airport security would stop them all as suspicious characters.  Indeed when I looked up from my grief and my blindered focus on the rental car location I realized everyone was staring at the distressed blonde girl surrounded by Saudi Arabians.  They didn't shy away though.  Khalid walked right beside me despite his fears of being labeled as a terrorist and a kidnapper - that's quality friendship.  The rental car place was also very sweet.  The guy behind the counter could see I was upset and was concerned I could not seem to comprehend the more comprehensive insurance plan and that I was going to land in a ditch with the impending snowstorm so he gave me the better insurance for the same price as the cheaper one.  I had called my friend Malika days before I was to arrive in Toronto and even with a small downtown condo and a new baby she opened her home to me, fed me like a good Punjabi mama and listened to my grief.  Truly sometimes vulnerability begets tremendous compassion and that was what I experienced.  

I really just tried to keep my head above water for the next few months.  I managed to do that and pass my Royal College exam and that was a tremendous weight off my shoulders.  But I had expected the weight to evaporate and it was still there.  The gnawing pains of grief had not been adequately fed and they had come to collect.  I tried to bury myself in work.  I worked at every chance I could in the two months between finishing residency and starting fellowship and it kept things at bay.  I told myself the weight would go away when I got that first big paycheque. Then I would finally be able to breathe.  The first paycheque came and it washed away all financial concerns I had about the trip to Australia and...I felt terrible.  I called my dad and sobbed.  It wasn't better.  I wasn't better.  I kept thinking that if I kept shoving my head in the ostrich holes of work and exams and children and travel and other people's crises that I could avoid looking at the ostrich hole with the elephant in it.  

There has been no "aha" moment.  I didn't have one brave day where I defiantly faced grief and conquered it.  It has been a journey of one foot in front of the other.  It has been quiet pockets of remembrance that have turned from heartbreaking to heartwarming like changing leaves on a tree.  There are still times where Keith will turn the corner and I'll be teary in the kitchen concentrating over a recipe she taught me with her lifetime of experience, smells and tastes as palpable reminders of the extraordinary gift of my childhood with her and my childlike loss of her.  It's a work in progress.  

So tonight I raise a glass (or two or three...who's counting really?) to my Grandma.  Thank you for not letting "refugee" define your legacy - for remembering where you came from and how far you'd come from it.  Thank you for treasuring and safeguarding my childhood despite how difficult yours was.  Thank you for everything you taught me about my heritage and giving me strong roots.  Thank you for never telling me that my opinion didn't matter or that my voice was less than because I was a girl and thank you for marrying a man that agreed with you on that.  Thank you for showing me what was important - that a life full of "putting a little love in it" is indeed a life well lived.  

I love you Grandma.  I see you in so many recipes and in how I do so many things and in my daughter's smile so you are never too far from my heart.  Rest well.

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”  - Elizabeth Kubler Ross