Birthdays

Last week was a pretty powerful week.

Friday before last, I got a call from my Mom about my grandmother; "Accha".  In Singhalese, the affectionate and respectful name for grandmother is Accha, like grandma.  Accha had contracted cancer a couple of years and had been fighting it quite well since then.  But this Spring, she took a bad turn and then began to deteriorate quickly.  A few weeks back, at age 80, she entered Hospice care.  My mother was calling me that Friday to let me know the Hospice nurse had advised her that she only had a few days left.

A couple months back, I went to visit her in Maryland when I heard that she wasn't doing so well.  Her short-term memory was gone by then and she was quite frail but she was flowing with stories and smiles.  She remembered things about me that I couldn't remember.  I sat and stuffed myself with rice 'n' curry and just listened to her share her these precious memories.

When I got the call that Friday, I booked a flight and flew back to Maryland that next day.  I went straight to my aunt's house where she was.  My sister was there, 7 months pregnant, with my niece Ava of 6 years along with my mother, stepfather, aunt, and cousin Avi.  I went straight upstairs to see my grandmother.

She was lying asleep peacefully in a room bathed in warm amber light, the light hum of a fan barely audible as it stirred the warm air.  Pictures of family and friends adorned the wall next to her.  I sat with her for a few hours and read a Hospice booklet on the stages of dying.

I read about how there are many stages in how the mind, body, and spirit let go in different ways.  And as I sat with her, I was amazed to see how much of my dear Accha was still there. When I spoke to her, sometimes I would get a murmur, sometimes a movement of her foot, and sometimes a squeeze of my hand.   She was there and she definitely could hear me.  I did not expect this.

As I read more and sat with her on my own, I realized how important it was for me to say goodbye to her, to let her know what she meant to me, that I would be OK, that it was OK for her to go.  I sat and meditated next to her, opening myself up as much as possible.  I felt her love, her pain, and sensed her fear.

I stroked her brow and told her I loved her, that I appreciated the things she did for me, and that when I was younger I did not but that I see how much she tried to do for me then.   And I told her I was OK, that the family would be OK, and that it was alright for her to go, to not be scared.  And when I was done, my grandmother had not moved at all but there was a single tear flowing down her cheek.

Later, in the middle of my night, my cousin woke me to let me know that Accha was "awake".  We all rushed up stairs, gathering around her bed.  My grandmother's eyes were only half-open but she was much more alert than I could have imagined; she knew we were all there.  My mother, aunt, sister, cousin, and I all sat around her, joining hands with her and one another.  We recalled our memories of her to her, shared our love and affection, and let her know it was OK to move on, to say goodbye to us.  It was one of the most powerful moments of my life. 

After that night, I resigned myself to not disturb her again.  As the Hospice nurse echoed, she was walking down a path and every time she stopped to talk to one of us, it made it harder to return to that path.  Once I had said my goodbye to her, I knew she had to finish that walk on her own as scary as I knew it may be for her to do.

The Hospice booklet said that we die as we live.  And my grandmother was a strong woman who put so many other people ahead of herself.  (To the surprise of the nurse and all of us,) She lived for five days after that night and passed away gently late last week after we all had returned home.   She never wanted to be a burden to anyone.

Saturday the 13th would have been her 81st birthday.  That also was the night of my birthday party, I turned 36 on Monday.  Surrounded by so many wonderful friends, I reflected on my blessings and my Accha.

Accha was a registered nurse in Sri Lanka, and it was quite unusual for a woman of her era to be involved in medicine at all.  More inspiring was that in her mid-60's, she became a RN again in the U.S.  She studied for all of the classes and passed the necessary exams, I remember tutoring her in the Math classes back then.  She worked as a RN again here for several more years before stopping work only in her mid-70's.  She spent the rest of her life giving away the money she had saved all those years.  She helped relatives in need, she helped built medical clinics and homes in the poorest villages in Sri Lanka, she helped people she didn't even know that she knew needed some assistance. 

Now, I have to state that my family is far from anything idyllic, we have had more than our fair share of dysfunction permeate our lives.  But when I reflected on my grandmother's life and that evening where we all sat around her, I saw so much of that melt away.  I saw the shimmering thread that runs through all of us; my Accha, my sister, mother, cousins and now niece, through four generations.  It is compassion. 

Whether is naive or not, all of us believe in the good that can happen when we believe in one another, when we give something of ourselves to someone in need and that it will be paid forward many times over.  I was so proud to realize this about my family, and my culture.

My birthday party was hella fun.  Records, drinks, crazy friends, the cops coming to shut us down -the usual.  But most of the night and the next day, all I could think of was my family and my Achha and that I wished we could celebrate our birthdays together one more time. 

I miss you, Accha.  Thank you.