It has been 36 months since you’ve spoken your last words.
It has been 157 weeks since you looked over at me and smiled.
It has been 1096 days since this emptiness has been clawing at me.
Your death hit me hard. It still does. The days are going on and on, and the memory of pain is dull, but there are a number of times in a year when the pain is as sharp as ever.
I miss talking to you. Miss gossiping away. Miss just coming over, having chai and the sandwich and food prepared for me, miss telling you everything. Miss you lecturing me, and telling me to help my mum and be more responsible and go to church. Miss you talking about how you met Papa. And how you loved roses so. And how you always had the time for me.
You brought the family together. You were the glue. The one person whom everyone absolutely adored. You loved so much. And you were loved in return. All you wanted was for us to be a “family”. Not this bickering between cousins. Not these small misunderstandings taking the place of what should be a lovely relationship. We have become so petty. You must be shaking your head in disapproval at us.
And maybe at me. I am still the same person I was. Lazy. Irregular church goer. Stubborn. Everything you disapproved of. And yet when I try to be better, I find that I am always stumbling. Always falling short of what you wanted me to be.
But, somehow, I know you dont care about that. I know you’re around. I sensed you at the grave the other day. And I see you in my dreams often. Being just the same as you always were.
Its been 3 years today. And time has smoothened the pain. But your memory.. your memory shines on. You are with me as the contacts saved by you appear on my phone. You are with me as I wear your scarf. You are with me as I dream and ponder on life.
I miss you. Every day.
I love you.
And always will.
Keep coming back , Nana.