Throwback Thursday - Grandpa’s Passing · 6:56pm Feb 2nd, 2023
Hiya, my lovely peeps.
Yesterday marked 7 years since my Nana passed away.
On February 1st, 2016, at around 11:00 AM, my Pa gets a phone call from the hospital. It sounds urgent and, as soon as the call is over, Pa tell us to get changed and we have to leave now. I barely have time to grab a snack before Pa throws us all in the car. On the way to the hospital, Ma asks him what’s wrong. Pa takes in a deep breath and says the next words as calm as he can.
“Your father has passed away.”
Ma breaks down. She goes into a state of shock, she can’t speak anymore. She cries, she screams, she sweats. In the backseat, my brother and I cry, too. I was 13 at the time; he was 9. Pa is holding back his tears as he has to focus on the road.
Pa gives us more details. Earlier that morning, Nana had left the house and had gone to a prayer at a friend’s house. As he was reading the Holy Quran, he dropped dead. The other attendees had rushed him to the hospital, but it was too late. He was already gone, having died peacefully during a religious event. He was 74.
Our car arrives at the hospital and we meet up with my Nana’s two other children. From there, we split up. I head to my Nana’s house with my Ma, my bro, my aunt and her 5-year old daughter. Pa stays behind with my uncle to sort some things out.
I arrive at Nana’s with the rest of my family. The house is already full of mourners by then. I meet up with my Nana’s other son outside. And when I go inside, I meet up with my grandmother, Nani. She’s a blubbering mess of tears and snot. It was my mother’s reaction times eleven. She looks utterly broken, unable to process her husband’s departure. She was 72 at the time.
For the next few hours that followed, more people poured in the house. My other cousins, my family from my Pa’s side, people who from the neighborhood who knew Nana. I get dressed into something more appropriate for a funeral, I pull my 5-year old cousin away from her mother so the latter can grieve in peace. I hug my mother, I hug my aunt, I hug my brother. I cry. And I wait.
We wait for the body.
We’re Muslim. In Islam, it is compulsory to bury the departed as soon as possible. Bodies are supposed to be in the grave within the next 24 hours at most. So there was a slight rush for the funeral. My Pa and my uncle were having major difficulties getting the formalities done. Since Nana didn’t die in the hospital, there was a big delay in getting his death certificate. On the top of that, they were having trouble acquiring land for the burial. All offices were closed since February 1st is a public holiday in my country.
Nana died at around 10:00 in the morning. His body finally arrived at his house at 08:00 that evening.
A number of problems occur throughout the rest of day. At around 06:00 in the evening, everyone is getting hungry. And one of my aunts, bless her soul, throws together a quick dinner with the things she has in the house. As more mourners arrive, more space has to be made for them. My family wanted to clear the garage. Slight problem: Nana’s car is in the garage and no one knows where his keys are.
But finally, finally, Nana arrives. He’s being carried in my parents’ car. The men in the house take the body and lay it down in the living room, which had been cleared prior. Nana’s closest family members gather around him and say a few prayers. After that, his body is lifted into the janazah, and a few more prayers are given. Pa silently cries, both my uncles cry, too. Ma screams, as does her sister.
The body is then taken out by the men and they start walking towards to the cemetery for the burial. In Islam, women don’t go to cemeteries, let alone burials. So I stay behind with my mother and do my best to comfort her.
At around 11:00 that night, the men come back. By then, most of the mourners had already left. Ma offers to stay with her mother, and my brother stays with her. Pa and I head back home. The ride home was very quiet, the mood somber and dark. We get home and I collapse in bed.
Early the next morning, Pa rushes back to get his wife and son. And then the four of us have a very quiet breakfast together.
The weeks that follow are very hectic. My parents and I are constantly going back and forth between our house and Grandma’s. Thankfully, they’re only 20 minutes apart by car. We go to my Nani’s place everyday. And we pray and grieve and offer comfort.
On Day 3 of mourning, we have a big prayer and I was picked up straight from school to my Nani’s place. On Day 6, my parents bring their new car to Nana’s place and we all cry because Nana would’ve loved it. On Day 10, we have another prayer where a fight broke out between two close members of my family. On Day 35, we host the biggest prayer yet and almost everyone who came to the funeral came this time.
Our first Eid without him came and went. And then one year passed. Then two. Then five. And before we know it, seven years have already passed.
I was close to him. I still remember going to his place and finding him curled up in his chair by the window, glasses on his nose, reading a book. Nana loved reading; my mother, my aunt and I all inherited this trait from him. He would cook the best biryani for all of us. My Pa would sit with him and talk for hours about horseracing, family and life. Nana loved his bike, which he would ride five times a day to go the mosque. I last talked to him on January 30th, 2016.
May the Heavens bless your soul, Nana. I miss you so much.
Love,
Uzma
