I spent the day with my grandmother today. She's been through a lot lately and I can't stand the thought of her being lonely, so I try to spend as much time with her as I can. It's funny because to me, she's my grandma and I've known her as none other, but to my Mom and Dad she is this completely different person, different from the version that I know. To them she is a Mom and a Mother-in-law. Sometimes I see a glimpse of the woman that they told me about, the woman she used to be, the woman they see in her and it makes me question just who she really is? Has time changed her, grinded her into the way she is now? Or have I simply chosen to ignore all other opinions and see only what I want to see in her?
The lines on her face and arms are beginning to grow deeper, turning her once marble-like skin into wrinkled paper. A sort of map that tells of the sorrows and worries that have haunted her these past decades. I still can't believe that she actively lived through World War II. I can't imagine all of the terrible things she must've seen or done. It's like there's this huge chunk of her life that I will never be a part of, that I will never get to know because time has eroded most of it away and it seems cruel to ask her to bring all of that heartache back up again. Still, I cannot help but wonder how her life was before she had my Mom or before she held me in her arms as her second grandson.
I wonder what she feels when she watches the news now and when she sees how screwed up everything's got? Is it a sense of desperation because she sees that all the past sufferings meant to bring about a new era of peace and prosperity have only led to more conflict and death, now shown in technicolor on international television? War for all to see? Is it a sense of nostalgia? Longing to go back to a more simpler and quieter existence, before the War? Before things got so bad?
There are so many things that I want to ask her. I want to get to know her. The real her. Not limited to her grandmother personality. For some reason, whenever I see her, it's like there's this invisible clock ticking somewhere, warning me about the fleetingness of time. This platform we're on only offers temporary support before it collapses and is swept away by the current, whereafter I can never go back and get to know her. It almost seems morbid talking about her this way, but time is not on our side, I know this and I know that if I don't do this now, I will never be able to muster up the strength to ask about her when she's gone. Partly out of fear that I'll only get to hear a biased version of her and partly because I know that with each passing second, memories tend to fade away or details that seem so insignificant -but in fact carry an important value- are left out. Of course, everything we do and say or everything we don't do and don't say is biased and subject to oblivion, but I like to think that I'll be able to distil some sort of truth from it all and that I'll be able to fight back the waves of erosion.
I admire my grandmother for having lived her life despite all of the adversaries that fate has thrown her way. She has faced war, economic crisies and terrorism. Yet, she soldiers on bravely. I guess the WWII-generation has been blessed with an indestructable ability to find the beauty in the world and to cancel out all negative impulses. One day, I'll be able to fracture just a piece of her armour and see her for the woman she is, the warrior that has lasted for more than seven decades in this unforgiving world that takes nothing for granted. One day I'll see her. Wholly.
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