Dear
Gran,
Albus
Dumbledore once said: To the
well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure.
It’s
been a year since you graduated. I’ve got on with my life—we all have, I
think—but the void created by your absence haunts me sometimes. Yet I am happy
and comforted by the thought that you work at Headquarters. Who would’ve
thought that your graduation would be a double-edged sword?
Okay,
this is another letter that cannot and would not be mailed. I know, I know. I’m
waiting for the
Muse. She sent you; now my pen does prose. I do not know
whether to be amused or confused. The vacuum suddenly turns into a spring from
which words pour forth. No complains, only gratitude.
Life
has been kind: this year has been chaotic as ever but I survive—no, thrive in
it. Headaches plague me now and again, but it won’t stop me from reading. Just
like you didn’t drop the needle and thread because your eyes dimmed.
At
your commencement ceremony, the speaker said that all the hindrances disappear
as soon as your crossed the threshold of the School of Life and are now at Headquarters.
You can actually sing songs with lyrics, not just hum the melodies. What voice
are you in the eternal choir? I wish I could hear you sing. I always wondered
how it would be like: you singing a song with lyrics that capture the heart and
lift up the soul, and on top of that, with a voice that puts the morning lark
to shame.
It
is the rainy season back here. Be it a light drizzle or even if the heavenly
tears flood the roads, my thoughts turn to you. As liquid diamonds hit the
pavement, I hear you hum. The song of
the rain is a tune I hear no more, and yet it reaches my ears when roofs are
pounded on and windows are slashed. It’s the new “Rhythm of the Rain.”
What’s in a name? Shakespeare’s Juliet
wonders aloud. That which we call a rose
by any other word would smell as sweet. That is generally true. But not for
me. You alone gave me a name, and it has been a special connection—a bond if
you will—between us. The family may call me by that name, but it will not be
the same as when you address me. I am
never weaned from you. I fear though that people would not understand. Ah, but
who cares what they think? They are not your grandchildren; they would not
understand the silence that longs for your humming.
You
have been a mother for all seasons, and you gave me a long lasting legacy. We
never bonded over King Arthur’s adventures during the nights you tucked me in,
but you hummed tunes until I was fully embraced by sleep’s warm arms. What kid
needs a music box if you’re there? Sure beats Brahms’s lullaby. More than that,
you showed me the respect you have for my parents’ authority and their way of
raising a child. I did not grow up spoiled, hence, thank you for not playing
Court of Appeals with me.
I
want to live a life like yours and leave a nice legacy too—not only in the legal
sense of the word. When the grandkids come…I will dote on them like you did to
me, but not cross the line. Maybe I’d hum the song of the rain too. And tell them
the story of a silver-haired granny who loved the colour of royalty.
I
know you faced the Chief Justice of the Eternal Supreme Court with your head
high and He welcomed you with a wide grin. I’m still young, but when
Headquarters comes calling, I want to report for duty the way you did: ready
and at peace. When I finally get my promotion, I want to stand before the Chief
and be confident enough to say, “To God be the glory for a life well-lived.”
Your
departure drove a point home. I heard it lots of times, but your graduation
drilled it into my head. Thanks for telling me that at death, we don’t leave home; we go home. One day, I will smile widely as I echo the words of Romeo
Montague: Come death and welcome.
Thank
you for the legacy and for the gift of being called your grandchild.
Happy
first birthday!
Cheers,
Mison
El
Ciudad de los Pinos
25
November 2014
12:05
a.m.
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