Toilet Goddess

If you don't already know, I've lived with my grandmother my whole life. My mother was a working-mum and my grandmother has taken care of the four of us until we're old enough to tend for ourselves. This was something  she was really proud of, because she has taken such good care of us siblings. She has walked me to my kindergarten, gotten my cousin to get me warm clothing because she thought that the classroom was too cold for me, ensuring good hygiene by diligently scrubbing and shampooing my hair, gotten me breakfasts that were often crumbled into a ball because of the distance she traveled from the market, has taken me to hair cuts and waited for me to come home for lunch, forbid me from showering when I was sick and stuck her hands violently on my forehead to feel my temperature. She was reckless, loud, and as cheesy as it sounds, loving.


I grew up, and undeniably I relied on my grandmother much lesser that I did when I was younger. I grew up, and she grew older. Her health deteriorated, but she was still comparatively much stronger than other grandmamas and grandpapas. She could feed herself, walk, and go to the toilet by herself. Having underwent a mild stroke, she didn't smile as much as she did as compared to a few years ago, and gotten awfully loud and annoyingly forgetful. In recent years, she would dash into our rooms to bid her myriad of goodnights and would call our names just for the sake of calling our names. She was still her, though she slept a lot and hid behind a blank facade of empty expressions.


Nonetheless, she was still going strong, we even pushed the boundaries further to leave her at home at times to run some errands or to go for movies for a few hours at night. Until one day, mum found her lying on the kitchen floor as she fell down. We expected the worst, she was admitted to the hospital that night, and spent the rest of the following week in the hospital ward. However, she was still the old-tough-cookie I remembered she was, she braved through the surgery and started her slow progress of physiotherapy. She was discharged a few days after the surgery and came home though she has gotten dreadfully quiet these few weeks..


Coming home wasn't a bed of roses for me and mum, as she wasn't as independent as she was. She needed constant supervision, care and attention as she was still weak and recovering from the surgery. Mum was extremely patient with granny, applauded when she was able to walk one more step as compared from yesterday, encouraged her when she wasn't able to use her strength. For myself, I'm so thankful that I am not working for this period to be home with them. I spent a lot of time taking care of her during this short period of time, from cleaning her excrement, to feeding her to carrying her on to her bed. I swear to you, it wasn't easy at all, taking care of a semi-disabled grandma. I didn't mind, really, though it wasn't fun, I really didn't mind doing all that. She didn't spend long to be at home though..


If you don't already know, my grandmother, as much as I still can't digest this piece of information, passed away last Tuesday, on a fine evening, after dinner, painlessly, and, unexpectedly. The funeral passed by in a blink of an eye, through a curtain of tears. I've experienced deaths in life, but this has been my closest and dearest one. And to be honest, I still can't believe she's gone.


'Coco' is magical, beautiful and surreal. Longingly, it has planted this tiny hope in me that it could be real, and someday, somehow, we can be reunited again.