A Very Long Wait

My mother returned from Madagascar last week and brought back with her all the photos that we had ever given my grandmother over the years. As I looked at every one of them, I was filled with nostalgia. There, between my hands, laid our entire life.

There were pictures of me as a baby in Madagascar; then as a little girl in France; as a teenager in the states; and finally as an adult. My mother had sent my grandma all these photos of my brother and I growing up. It made me wonder how my grandma had felt when she saw these pictures. Was she happy or sad? Did she yearn to see us again? Was she proud to have us as grandchildren? For years, we were apart and she wasn't there to see us grow up. These pictures were all she had. I imagine it must have been difficult for her. Her closest, most treasured family members were so far away from her, and all she had were photos.

Right before she died, she asked for me. My mom assured her I'd be coming at the end of January, but she said, 'No, I can't wait that long.' Then she asked my mother, 'What took you so long to come? What were you doing out there for such a long time?' For she had been waiting for us to come for her. It seems as though she waited her entire life to see us. But it was never up to her to decide when she'd see us again; it was always up to us. We came when we could, not when she wanted us to.

This was no one's fault, of course. Our difficult circumstances prevented us from arranging frequent visits. We had her come visit us in France in 1992, 10 years after we left Madagascar. Then in 1993 we moved to the United States, even farther away from Madagascar than France had been, in search of a better life. We struggled as immigrants and it wasn't until 1999 when our situation improved that we were able to travel to Madagascar to see my grandma again. We left her behind, but we promised her that we would send her to the states to join us. Indeed we held our promise and a couple of months later, she arrived in the states and spent three and a half wonderful years with us. These were probably some of the happiest years of her life as an adult. Finally she was reunited with us, and living amongst us.

But fate had it that we had to be separated again. My brother and I went to France; my parents and my grandma went to Madagascar. I briefly saw them in Madagascar, but upon receiving permission to return to the states on an immigrant visa, I left them and went back to the states. As much as I wanted to be with my grandma, my life was in America; I simply could not stay. I remember crying by myself at the Malagasy airport after I said goodbye to her for what was to be the last time in the fall of 2003. I had no idea I was never to see her again, but I do know I felt incredibly sad not to know when I'd see her again.

Now that I know I'll never see her again, the glimpse of hope for another reunion is gone. Today I look forward to death so that perhaps I can see her in heaven, or wherever she is right now. I don't want to take my life away - my grandma wouldn't have wanted that, but now that she's gone, I am not afraid of death. If I were to die today or tomorrow, I'd be grateful. For me, death would mean that I could be reunited with my beloved Perline again. And that in itself is a wonderful thing. Who knows, maybe once again she is waiting for me. It may not be long, but then again it could be another very long wait.

Happy Birthday, Grandma

Today is bebe Perline's birthday. My mom, who is still in Madagascar, visited her grave earlier to bring her flowers. As she tossed the bouquet, she exclaimed, "I brought you flowers, bebe. Happy birthday!" She tells me that it was raining heavily then. The sky might have been sobbing with her.

Last night, I hardly slept. Tossing and turning, I ruminated over my grandma. Earlier that evening, my roommate had told me that her grandma was going to pass away soon. She shared her experience with me; how she spent three hours by her grandmother's bedside, trying to make her feel comfortable. She was quite upset when she found out her grandma was going to die, but it made her feel better to spend time with her and actually do something for her grandma. It made me envious. I would have loved to have spent some time with my grandma before she died.

I awoke today to find out that my roommate's grandmother died this morning. I was already feeling bad about everything; now I felt worse. It was almost like losing my grandma all over again. It reopened wounds; wounds that were not even healed in the first place.

I found it a bit eerie that my roommate's grandmother died on my grandma's birthday. It's almost as if my grandma had called my roommate's grandma to the grave to join her. Both of them had been leading painful existences; now both of them are released from their pain. Last night, I had implored my grandma to take me with her. I suppose she took my roommate's grandmother instead - probably because it was her time to go and not mine.

If there is such a thing as after-life, I wonder if they've met yet. They never knew each other. But their granddaughters are close friends, living together. I also wonder if my grandma is trying to communicate something to me. By taking this woman with her, perhaps she is telling me I'm not all alone; that I have my roommate and that I should confide in her more - since my grandma's illness, I've kept a distance between us and often choose to stay in my room alone when I am home.

Part of it is, I don't want to burden her. Grandma this, grandma that, it seems that's all I can talk about these days. My boyfriend puts up with it, but he's my boyfriend and he's an angel anyway. I don't want to dump my load on anyone else, though, least of all my roommate who has an infant to take care of. The last thing she needs are depressing friends.

But the other part is that I value my privacy and my time alone. I don't want anyone to see me suffering. I'd rather keep busy doing random things on my own - watching movies, going window shopping or listening to music - to keep my mind off my pain.

Also, for a couple years now since I started living independently, I've lived by the motto that I can't count on anyone in this life. I have to learn to deal with things on my own so that when people turn their back on me, I will not feel lost. I often try to tell myself I don't need anybody, that I can cope through the worst alone. In the end, my friends and my family will walk away from me, but I'll be left standing there. I will always have myself; I am not completely alone.

And now, I feel as though my grandma's behind me, too. She's like a force that's living inside of me. She gives me a little hope for the future when I feel as though I have none left. Sometimes I ask her to take me to the grave with her, but she tells me no, I have to go on. It isn't my time yet, she says. She's not taking me with her just yet.

Happy birthday, grandma. I'm sorry I didn't tell you this before, but I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else.

A Diary for You, Grandma

I bought my first bottle of liquor - vodka - today. I've fixed myself a cosmopolitan and am savouring it as we speak. I needed something to warm me up inside. It's been a bit lonely around here.

Earlier, I went to the used CD store and bought myself three wonderful oldies CDs - Bobby Darin, Dean Martin and The Lettermen. I'm listening to the Dean Martin CD and I can't help but feel nostalgia. My grandma, born in 1936, grew up with these sounds. When we used to listen to the songs together, she'd reminisce and tell me about her younger days. It almost appears unreal to listen to this music alone.

In two days, my grandma would have been 69 years old. It's strange, but I miss her a lot again. I was doing fine for a week, getting on with my life and all. I haven't burst into tears in about a week now. Every now and then, a heavy, sinking feeling fills me up. But other than that, things are almost back to normal.

We were separated for two years before she died, so I suppose it's been easier to get over her loss. Since we parted about two years ago, I've learned to live without her. Yet I always thought we'd meet again. And it is the realization that I'll never see her again that breaks my heart. I can no longer look forward to our reunion.

Sometimes it stills feels like she's alive. I'm thinking, she's out there somewhere, waiting for me, and I'm going to see her again. But then I realize it's just a lost dream. She's gone forever; there'll be no more reunions nor hopes that she'll come back to the states to live with us.

I take back what I wrote three paragraphs ago. I'm in tears again. I've been pretending I've been doing well, but sadly, deep down I'm still hurting. Many things remind me of my grandma, from the songs she used to like, to the drinking moments we shared together - she gave me my first taste of wine when I was 12 and ten years later, we used to sneak in alcohol at home and quietly drink in our bedroom (my parents are religious and do not drink). Today, all I have left of her are her photos and the memories we shared.

A few days after she died, I decided that if I ever had children, I'd call my daughter Perline after her. I thought that that way I'd have her in my life again and I'd never forget her.

Bebe Perline, this diary is for you.