good grief

I found out this weekend that my grandmother in Indonesia might be in her final days. Even though we believe her to be incredibly old (96, but there are no real records to substantiate it), it still felt like a shock. Just last week I was telling someone that I never knew anyone who died. I guess I kind of feel like I invited trouble.

We rushed to get my dad a flight to Jakarta, including multiple calls and maybe one fit of yelling-turned-broken-down-to-crying at the Singapore Airlines ticketing agent over the phone. The distance felt suddenly like something scary. Like maybe the tragedy of my father not arriving in time to say goodbye.

He flew out as soon as he could, the next day, and arrived the day after that. Two days to Jakarta. Then another day to arrange transportation to Padang. We weren't even sure if she would be conscious when he arrived. My grandfather (who I did not know) had died several years ago, when I was in college. In that case, we got the phone call in the middle of the night, and my father never even had the chance to try. This time, I felt paralyzed that my grandmother would die en route and my father's efforts, our whole family's efforts, really, would fall short.

Every time I think of that guilt, I feel pain. Every time I think of my father, separated and motherless in the world, I grieve. When I called my father and told him I bought his ticket, that everything was taken care of, he asked me why? Knowing that this would be painful for him and fearful that he still wouldn't get there in time, he had already given up.

In the past four days, there's been an incredible evolution of emotion occurring inside me. I don't understand it, not even a little bit. I am so affected, but I don't fully understand why. I truly feel like this is a paradigm-shifting event. Like when I watched the twin towers fall that morning, or the night Obama was elected or when I woke up to hear that Saddam Hussein had been captured. That the world is just going to be different from now on. Of course, this is my paradigm shift and not everyone else's. Unlike those other times. Because for me, the world will be different without her in it.

I've only really met my grandmother twice. The first time, I really was too young to remember. My father brought me home when I was five, and both of my grandparents were still alive. The second time, I was 18 years older, living in Bukittinggi and teaching English and I remember it but almost wish I didn't. Some teachers from my school made the trip possible, and while they were too nice to say anything untoward, I got the impression that my grandmother's bahasa minang was not completely translated for me. The things they did say indicated that she was a very old woman who was biding her time. Her husband had already gone on several years before this and none of her children lived with her. She was ready then. I clearly remember that.

She wasn't a doting, loving old grandmother. She was a frail, petite thing with a strong voice and an accusing stare. I felt afraid and uncomfortable even as I appreciated her age and her presence.

And now I will never experience it again.

I feel guilt. For taking my opportunity to know her for granted then, for not even doing what I could to learn anything about her! For not having fond memories. Because there won't be a tangible void in my life because there was not a real presence.

I am grieving. For my father and myself and my children who haven't yet been born. I feel the loss even though I don't understand it, even though it is not tangible here. I've been anxious, awaiting updates from my mother in Texas, from my cousin in Jakarta. Flung out all over the world, we are. I've been isolated from the comfort of those who know. Teary and crying one minute and set on busy-ness the next. The sewing machine, the chopping of my knife hammering away one minute, my hunched over body prone in bed as I stare into the distance or cry into my pillow the next. Poor Mark, so patient, so understanding, even when I do not understand at all.

It's good for me to feel. I think if I felt nothing I'd know I was heartless and that would be worse. I know ultimately grief is good. And in this case, maybe premature. I just heard word this afternoon that my father made it all the way to Padang and that my grandmother was conscious enough to eat something! Hallelujah! He made it. That's been my overwhelming fear the last few days and at least that is gone. It might be my strongest source of comfort to my grief in the days ahead.