It’s been a little more than two years since my grandmother suffered a stroke that left bed-bound with half her body paralysed and unable to speak or swallow. In those two years, the atmosphere of my home hasn’t been as cheery as it used to be. The house has been quite and it’s the things that I used to take for granted are the things that I miss most about her.
I miss grandma’s cooking. Sure, grandma’s maid/caretaker can recreate the dishes that grandma taught her but it’s still not the same. It doesn’t have the same depth of taste that only comes from someone who cooks with love for the ones she love.
Strangely, I miss her nagging. It used to have me rolling my eyes when she starts nagging at us but now that she can’t do it anymore, you miss it because you realise that she only nags at you because she wants the best for you and that she loves you very much.
The thing that miss most about my grandma is her laughter. It’s not that she can’t laugh now, she can. It’s just that it’s so rare that when she laughs it’s like the whole house lights up again. She spends most of her day asleep or watching TV silently. I never knew how much difference her laughter can make until you don’t hear it anymore.
Even though she’s not as healthy as she used to be, she is as healthy as she can be in her condition. She’s not losing weight nor does she have bedsores since we make every effort to prevent that from occurring. We talk to her everyday, to tell her how our day went. We miss the vivacious, stubborn old woman that she was before she got sick but we know that underneath the silence and the frail body, she’s still there, in the glints of her eyes.