(A photo from back when I was a tiny tot. I'm the one with my eyes closed.)

I saw this writing challenge while browsing through the writing contest list that @moneyinfant makes. It looked like an interesting opportunity, so, here’s my entry.

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In my twenty-something years of existence, I’ve had lots of experiences. Some good, some bad, others happy, others sad.

They’ve all left their own marks on my life, positive and negative.

But there’s this particular one that happened back when I was a kid of six years old. It was one that changed not only my life but the lives of the members of my family.

The picture above is one taken a couple of years before life changed, before we grew up and learned about the realities of life. Innocently smiling and laughing, unaware of how difficult things can be, how difficult things will be.

This came to my mind when I was listening to Ēriks Ešenvalds’ ‘Only in Sleep’. For me, it’s a piece of music that’s both haunting and comforting, bringing back memories that had been buried under the years.

(Take time to listen if you can. It's a really beautiful piece of music.)

It brought back memories of childhood.

Happy memories of playing with my cousins, causing the occasional chaos, while the adults would scold us and sometimes let us get away with being naughty (though this rarely happened).

But the experience I remembered with this song was the death of my grandmother, my dad’s mom.

A little surprising, isn’t it, with the song as an inspiration?

The lyrics, “Only in sleep”, reminds me of people that I can never anymore see in person. Beloved individuals who’ve passed from this lifetime, who I can only see in my sleep or in photographs.

I can only dream of what-might-beens...

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The Experience

My grandmother was a philanthropist. A person who was active in helping others, was generous and kind to a fault, a peace-loving individual who also served as mediator when there was trouble. One of her favourite things to do was feed people, her family, workers, acquaintances, even strangers, whenever it was near dinner time, or even just snack time,
she’d do her best to feed everyone in the vicinity.

Along with her philanthropy work, she also managed the family business, which was concerned a small company that dealt with glass and aluminium work. They provided windows, gates, doors and such for customers.

And my grandmother was the type of person who was hands-on, so concerning the duties of the workers, paperwork, things to buy for the business, she was always running around doing them even though there were others who could do the work.

The incident that led to her death was a fall from one of the company trucks.

She was looking for some papers, so she checked the inside of the truck. It was one of those trucks whose interior was high above the ground. And my grandmother slipped on her way out and hit her head.

At that time, there wasn’t any visible injuries, so nobody was alarmed. Everyone was relieved that she was fine.

But a few days later, she was hospitalized. She already had heart problems at this time, and it was thought maybe her condition was connected to that.

We visited her in the hospital, she looked fine but tired and pale. She told us kids, my cousins, my brother and I, to always be good kids and to not fight with each other. I remember my older cousin (two years older than me) reminding her about his birthday, which was a few weeks later.

Everyone thought she would be fine, my mom, my uncle (my grandmother’s eldest son) and aunt, they were all doctors.

They’d been monitoring the situation with my grandmother carefully.

But in a few days, on a Friday, she had a heart attack due to a blood clot that formed when she fell. They rushed her to a hospital about two hours away because the hospital she was currently in did not have the medical instruments for her treatment.

She died on the way.

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It was my first brush with the death of a close relative.

I finally learned the meaning of ‘death’, how permanent it was. It took a long time for me to fully understand it, and when I did, I cried so hard. That feeling of wanting to see someone but knowing that they're gone and you can't. Her smile, her laughter, her kind and comforting voice, I could never experience them anymore. My crying jag nearly triggered an asthma attack.

I became a witness, at her funeral, of how much of a good person she was. A lot of the people she helped attended her burial, all of them talking about how my grandmother helped them.

The family, which had their own disagreements and fights that were usually cleared up by my grandmother, ended up fractured. My grandmother had kept the peace between family members, talked over the misunderstandings and conflicts, and served as the pillar of the family.

When she was gone, problems between family members escalated, and relationships became strained.
The family business also declined little by little until it closed completely.

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What I Learned

My grandmother’s death made me grow up mentally, and it was an experience that none of the adults could protect us kids from. It made me realize the permanence of death, that what it takes can never be returned. I found out that life can be fleeting, that it can be snuffed out rather easily.

I became much more considerate after it because I was scared of losing someone I loved without them knowing that I loved them. Until now, I haven’t lost that fear, the fear that I can die, or someone I care about could die without the knowledge that I loved/cared for them.

It's just sad that sometimes, you can only appreciate some things only after they're gone. These things that I learned, would I have learned them if my grandmother didn't die? I honestly don't know.

Her death left a role that could never be filled in by anyone else. We all suffered because of it, but I'm hoping that each of us remembered her example, but... It was really a painful and trying time afterwards. I think some may have forgotten what my grandmother reminded us of, to always care for each other and not fight.

Still, through my grandmother’s example, I learned that the best legacy you can leave, is not money (though you can’t say that it isn’t needed), or monuments, or anything like that, but what you can leave is for me best summed up in a favourite poem of mine by Eva Rose York.

I shall not pass this way again—
Although it bordered be with flowers,
Although I rest in fragrant bowers,
And hear the singing
Of song-birds winging
To highest heaven their gladsome flight;
Though moons are full and stars are bright,
And winds and waves are softly sighing,
While leafy trees make low replying;
Though voices clear in joyous strain
Repeat a jubilant refrain;
Though rising suns their radiance throw
On summer’s green and winter’s snow,
In such rare splendor that my heart
Would ache from scenes like these to part;
Though beauties heighten,
And life-lights brighten,
And joys proceed from every pain,—
I shall not pass this way again.
Then let me pluck the flowers that blow,
And let me listen as I go
To music rare
That fills the air;
And let hereafter
Songs and laughter
Fill every pause along the way;
And to my spirit let me say:
“O soul, be happy; soon ’tis trod,
The path made thus for thee by God.
Be happy, thou, and bless His name
By whom such marvellous beauty came.”
And let no chance by me be lost
To kindness show at any cost.
I shall not pass this way again.
Then let me now relieve some pain,
Remove some barrier from the road,
Or brighten someone’s heavy load;
A helping hand to this one lend,
Then turn some other to befriend.
O God, forgive
That I now live
As if I might, sometime, return
To bless the weary ones that yearn
For help and comfort every day,—
For there be such along the way.
O God, forgive that I have seen
The beauty only, have not been
Awake to sorrow such as this;
That I have drunk the cup of bliss
Remembering not that those there be
Who drink the dregs of misery.
I love the beauty of the scene,
Would roam again o’er fields so green;
But since I may not, let me spend
My strength for others to the end,—
For those who tread on rock and stone,
And bear their burdens all alone,
Who loiter not in leafy bowers,
Nor hear the birds nor pluck the flowers.
A larger kindness give to me,
A deeper love and sympathy;
Then, O, one day
May someone say—
Remembering a lessened pain—
“Would she could pass this way again.”

(Source: http://sharpgiving.com/101famouspoems/poems/original/107York.html)

I want to be a person remembered by others as kind, willing to help, rather than as a rich or powerful individual that might have left a mark on history, but not one that was to the betterment of mankind.

The biggest lessons I learned from my grandmother, that I'm thankful for, is her lessons on kindness and generosity. To give, to share, to help, without expecting returns. And maybe, just maybe, one day someone would also say about me, "If she could pass this way again" like they say about my grandmother.

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