At birth, there were three. At 9, there were two. At 17, there was one. At 30, there were none. So goes the story of the grands in my life.
It has been three years since I lost the last grand. The last grand was my maternal grandmother (“Archchi”). In the last months of her life, it seemed like Archchi was waiting to go. She had stopped reading the daily newspaper and prayer book. She even stopped eating at times. She had lived. She seemed done.
Watching her through the eyes of a new 30 year old, I couldn’t imagine ever being done. Her youngest child was 41. Her youngest grandchild was 2. Great grandchildren were not born yet. Memories were still to be made. Birthdays to be had, trips to be taken. So, I wondered: done with what exactly?
Done living I suppose. In her lifetime Archchi defied incredible odds. She was born in a small southern town in Sri Lanka at a time when the western world was going through its worst depression in the 1930s. The Second World War broke out as she was probably starting school. The Cold War served as the backdrop to her teenage years when she studied hard to get into University. She was accepted into one of the best universities in the country hundreds of kilometers from her hometown. She strode off confidently to pursue her education and lived in a single dorm room by herself (the cultural significance of this remains unparalleled even today). She told the story of this epic saga years later to grandchildren who should have listened more closely.
She married a good man and had five children. She guided the family through the turmoil of homelessness when the family lost their home. She watched her oldest daughter marry at 20, defying her request to pursue her studies. Her other children married, moved away, had children, and sometimes stopped by. She taught maths for decades. She was known for her uncompromising fairness, which was displayed in her particular attention to making timetables for her teaching staff. She was admired and feared as a strict principal. She taught math to her grandchildren. She traveled abroad. She lived.
It’s hard to imagine turning 84. So many decades of lived memories, of experiences, of feelings. Perhaps she knew that it was time. Maybe it was the timing of a summer when she had seen all five of her adult children come to visit her in an unprecedented turn of events. Or perhaps she saw her oldest daughter follow in her footsteps taking the mantle of her late husband’s generosity and giving spirit. Perhaps she decided her legacy was secure. Or perhaps she was just tired.
What do we lose when the grands pass on? What memories are lost to time? What moments can never be repeated? To what extent are we defined by our relationships to our grands? What happens when no grands are left? Who do we become?