After a Death.

My maternal grandmother passed away at 1:30 pm this afternoon.

We received the news through a phone call from an uncle, assigned I believe, with the hard task of informing relatives and acquaintances of the death.

 My father received this phone call.

I was reading an article written by a friend of an intimate experience.

My sister was having her lunch.

We understand what this phone call means. A while later, my father speaks to us, relays the news. He asks us to call our mother.

A lot has happened since then.

My sister asks whether we should attend the funeral service. I tell her not to think too much, what has happened has happened. I see, it is a cold statement.

I finally sit down to write it down. My grandmother has died.

I attempt to light a lamp in her memory. My father tells me, it is prohibited to light a lamp in a house where death has occurred. I fail to see the logic in this custom. I give up. I am exhausted to argue.

But, I see, he is the only one who could take us through this experience. Only he could balance the grief and the mundane at this moment. I listen to him.

The house feels cold and melancholic.

No one has cried. We grieve in ways known to us.

I try to recollect the face of my grandmother. I pray to her. Peace be unto you, I whisper.

Peace be unto us.


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