I remember how it all began. I was an eight-year boy at the time who was beginning to understand the ways of the world. I understood that three weeks ago my grandfather had died and gone to heaven. I knew this because my mother had told me when I had pestered her continuously about why he hadn’t taken me to Disneyland like he promised he would. My younger sister, Mahiyal didn’t understand where my grandfather had gone. Girls are a little silly, I learned from a very young age.

Short Essay on If I were born again

However, I never thought my grandmother was silly even though she was a big girl; even though I saw her crying in front of my mother shortly after my grandfather had gone to heaven. Later, when I asked my mother about it, she told me that my grandmother was sad that my grandfather had gone away. I was also sad that he had left without even saying goodbye.

The next Sunday while I was busy trying to make a kite, I saw my mother’s car pull up in our driveway. My mother had gone to collect my grandmother because she didn’t want her to be alone and sad. Later that day I saw my grandmother smiling as she made chocolate chip cookies. Mahiyal even got to help her stir the mixture and put it in the oven. My grandmother was a fabulous cook and she made her special chicken Manchurian and egg fried rice for lunch that day. Since there was so much extra food my mother also invited one of my aunts and her family, who lived within a ten minute walking distance.

That day began to feel like a holiday with the adults chatting over tea after lunch while the children kept themselves busy with card games. The following Sunday we had lunch at Aunt Eeshal’s house and then the next Sunday lunch was at our house again. If truth be told my mother and Aunt Eeshal didn’t want my grandmother to feel lonely and sad, so this tradition continued until the next ten years. My grandmother would feel alive while she was among her family. She would tell us stories of herself as a girl, her children when they were little and stories about our grandfather. Often times, she would listen to our worries; about little things and big things and always reassure us. She would often bake us a special treat when either one of us was feeling low.

When the time came for me to leave for college, I was so excited to be finally independent and on my own that I forgot Sunday lunches would no longer be with her comforting presence. Soon the chaos of college life took over and I could only come home for a few days every couple of months. During my second year my grandmother died in a car accident while I was at college. It was then that it hit me that I would never be able to spend another Sunday with her and the pain felt unfathomable. I hope she’s in heaven telling my grandfather stories about all of us just like she used to tell stories about him every Sunday.

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