G-Mama

Life. If we're brought into it then surely we will have to leave it. My sweety pie Granny, or as we sometimes call her G-mama, has been ill for the past several months. She's in hospice and has been declining very rapidly. I have never seen someone slowly die, especially not a loved one. I was sitting with her one day and I thought to myself life is a full circle. We leave the same exact way we came in, totally dependent on others for our basic needs. On a physiological standpoint (Yep, you know I had to throw nursing into this!) your body regresses and begins to shut down. Your body is literally shutting down system by system. Your oxygen levels go down, which results in your limbs (feet and hands) becoming discolored. She is in this state. The shut down state. Knowing that she has been sick and that she has lived a beautiful life has allowed me to come to terms with her impeding death. Certainly it doesn't make it easier, I wish I had more time with her! I'm sure if she lived for 500 more years I would still want more time, right? The only issue that I have problems coming to terms with is that when she dies we'll only have memories, nothing tangible. Maybe a comb she used to use, or her favorite chair in the living room corner but her absence makes those things pointless. It's just going to be an empty space, a comb that should have freshly combed gray hair in it and a chair that looks far too empty.

She's lived in her home for over 50 years. My Allah, that is a long time! People back in her generation bought homes and stayed in them, not like today where we make major moves a couple times during our lifetime. To think that she won't be there when I stop by to visit is absolutely beyond me! We all associate places with people, and that home is her place. My point of this post is not to talk about my G-mama and her death, but to bring up a related thought.

My grandmother has served as a link between me and my African American identity. As I've mentioned before I've been exposed to many different cultures. The older I get the more I have realized that I associate best with my African American side, but don't fit in very well. My grandmother grounded me and her presence was always a reminder that I am a descendant of strong Black women and to be proud of my African roots. You might be thinking 'Well didn't your mother do that?'. To a certain extent yes, but growing up in a multi-ethnic household we had a mix of everything going on. I certainly didn't feel Sudanese due to the fact that I didn't have a relationship with my father and culturally I felt a tad bit Turkish (due in part to my Stepdad raising me and my younger half-Turkish sisters), but again I didn't fit in either. The older I get I realize she was the grounding force behind me developing my identity. So her death has made me feel as though a part of my identity is dying right along with her. Isn't it interesting how you have these sudden epiphanies?



May Allah forgive you and all of us for our sins and make the judgement in the grave an easy one. I pray that your grave is spacious and filled with light and most of all that you are reunited with Grandpa because I know your heart has longed for him something great. Rest well Grandma and I'll see you later. Love you lots!

Peace, Love and ever-lasting happiness to all!
BMWomyn