on a visit to my grandma's

Sometimes I feel like I lose sight of what life is about. And sometimes it’s the smallest things that give me a reality check.

It’s been almost a month since I returned home from the States, and I’ve been seeing my relatives a lot since I don’t get to see them as much during the year.

Last week, I went to my grandma’s (my dad’s mom’s) house. I hadn’t been there for about almost two years because she mostly stays with my aunt since my grandpa passed away in 2005. When he was alive, we used to visit my aunt and grandma separately, but since we lost my grandpa, she spends majority of her time away from home.

This past week however, she decided to return home for about two weeks since she hadn’t stayed there for a while, so me and my dad visited her in her own home.

There was a warm familiarity when we parked outside her building. The dialing machine downstairs used to have my grandpa’s name on it until the last time I visited her, but it was changed to read my grandma’s name instead. She buzzed us in and we walked up the stairs to the fourth floor where she lives. Everything was as exactly as I remembered—even the smell of the walls inside the building.

My grandma greeted us outside the door, by the stairs as she always did, and we hugged in the hallway.

Inside the apartment, everything was the same (though she had rearranged some of the furniture in the living room). There were photos of me as a kid and at my high school graduation, and of my cousins and parents. Also on the wall of the hallway leading into the kitchen were black and white photos of my grandparents’ parents and grandparents.

My grandma had formed a little cozy shelter for herself where she lit candles, turned on a bedside table that radiated a warm orange light into the living room, and was watching a travel program on TV.

She kept asking my dad and I what we’d like to eat, and both because we didn’t want her to go through the trouble of making something, and because we actually weren’t that hungry anyway, we kept telling her that we just wanted her to sit down so we could see her face and talk. However, her maternal instincts were more stubborn than me and my dad could be, and she decided to make meatball sandwiches in the kitchen.

I was watching her cook in the kitchen and she looked so happy and excited to be making something for her kids, but according to me, more so that she was making something for someone other than herself. I thought about what it must be like to live with someone for so long and to eat many meals together in that same kitchen, and then to have that person leave, and to have to learn and get used to doing things differently, which sometimes means alone for some people. I couldn’t help but feel a little sad, and also miss my grandpa a little as I felt his absence more at his house than I do anywhere else. And so, even though I wasn’t hungry, I decided to eat all the meatballs she made because her happiness and satisfaction in feeding me made me happier than I could be in any other way.

As we were putting our shoes on at the door to leave, she told me to hold on for a minute as she quickly walked towards her bedroom. A few seconds later, she came back carrying a box filled with smaller boxes of jewelry. She said there was a ring she wanted to give me before I left, and I spent some time looking at the other boxes to pick out a few that she might not have suggested, but that I really loved. So I got three of her rings as well.

As we hugged, she said, “this is probably the last time I’m seeing you before you leave to go back to the US, right?” And at that moment, I wanted to quit my job and move back home because so many things hit me at once.

The accumulation of everything I saw at her place made me realize that all of us go through roughly the same experiences in life, no matter during which time period we live. My grandma was a mother of two when she was my age, which means that she too, found someone she could marry, had a wedding (which she and her family must have prepared for), got pregnant, had kids, moved around for my grandpa’s job in the military, et cetera. Now she has two kids, three grandchildren-one of whom is married-and I can say that she led a pretty good life.

However, she lives alone because the man she spent most of her time with since she was 16 passed away. And that made me realize something.

Years from now, I want to look back and when I remember certain things or reminisce about the past, I want to have great memories.

Because we only live once, and we don’t have the luxury to waste any day or take any day for granted and treat it with the attitude of “oh well, another day is over.”

I don’t want to waste any time arguing, obsessing over small details, fussing about problems that aren’t even real problems, or with people who will not bring a smile to my face years from now when I think about them.

I don’t know what it was specifically about my visit to my grandma’s, but it gave me a little shake and brought me back to reality.

We’re so lucky to be alive, healthy, and to be who we are and it’s a real shame if we can’t live every minute being fully conscious and aware of these facts, and appreciate it all while it’s still early:)