The Poignancy of a Grandmother's Love

On remembering to smile

If you’d like to subscribe, you can do so here. Or just read on…

Dear Bolu,

Sometimes we struggle to come to terms with the fact that other people exist. It could get maddening—the thought that there are embodiments besides ourselves who draw breath, know the tastelessness of water, and have an understanding of algebra. It's even more troublesome when we have to contend with the reality that 1965 was a period in which humans lived. We wonder if people in those times saw things in color, listened to the sound of music, and queued up to buy movie tickets. Yet, there is undismissable evidence that people live and people have lived—your grandmother.

Away from the trope that paints old women as frail creatures who manage to cling on to life only because they chair meetings in the dead of the night and raise unholy toasts, grandmas are quite simply, beings like you. In fact, she was once exactly like you. You can depend upon it that she was because her existence chronologically explains yours. You are because she was.

She is, now, fragile and blessed with the enviable ability to slow down time with her delicate and often imbalanced movements. But she was, then, just as excitable and energetic as young people tend to be. Indeed, just as you are now, she was bold enough to jump into a moving bus and dare the conductor not to release her change.

Photo by Yan Berthemy on Unsplash

She was once the talk of the town. Having been the jewel of many eyes, she had found a suitable suitor. When her wedding bells rang, everyone trooped in to see the bride. Young, old, unsuccessful suitors, envious maidens—everyone was excited to see what she'd look like. Now, decades have passed, and no one seems to seek her company.

She calls you occasionally to wish you well, pray for you, and of course, remind you that she hasn't seen you in a long time. You genuinely wish to go see her but you've been busy. There are deadlines to be met during the week, football matches to be watched on Saturdays, churches to be attended on Sundays, and movies to be seen every evening. If only you had more time, you'd stop at her place albeit for a few minutes. But the owners of this world have placed so high a demand on your time, and you can't but do their bidding.

A public holiday comes around, and you're out of excuses to postpone your visit to her. You buy her fruits on your way because you truly want her to remain healthy. She sees you coming and she's surprised—cheerfully surprised. Her surprise catches you by surprise, after all, you informed her you'd be coming around. But she's surprised simply because she has lived long enough to be on the end of one too many unfulfilled promises.

She observes with her dying sight that you seem to have shrunk by a few millimeters. She is wise enough not to trust her eyes, so she welcomes you into her arms. She has clearly missed you, yes, but she also wants to feel you out. Now her theory is complete, you have indeed shrunk. She doesn't like it and it troubles her a great deal. She asks you if you've been eating at all. You say you have, and go on to add that you haven't actually shrunk and the fitted clothes you're putting on are deceiving her.

She doesn't argue with you, no. She knows, just as you do, that you haven't been eating at all. She has been there—skipping meals because some work had to be done, fasting because she got her heart broken, ignoring appeals to eat because she didn't like what was being served. However, all of that isn't important now so she orders for someone to prepare your favorite meal or your second favorite meal. It's one or the other because you are special to her, and you must be treated as such. You say she doesn't need to prepare anything because you are fine and you'd leave soon but your words fall on deaf ears. She's not exactly deaf yet, but she pretends to be.

She watches you eat and it delights her. She attempts to amuse you with stories—the past, quarreling neighbors, a friend who has taken ill. You are far too distant to be involved in the conversation, and she's unsure whether it has to do with your increased focus on the food you are consuming or your mind being consumed by other matters.

Photo by Yusuf Evli on Unsplash

She asks you about work in an attempt to draw you in. You say work is good. She knows you work but she doesn't know what you do in particular. You write hundreds of code blocks that she'd never understand, so you never tried explaining it to her. Oh, but she knows all too well what that's like. She once typed hundreds of pages with a typewriter without the luxury of backspace or an undo functionality.

As you talk about work, she catches the slight change in your demeanor. She’s been in way too many conversations to miss the subtle tells of people’s countenance. Work isn't going as well as you're painting it. You're underappreciated and overworked. You're due for a promotion but it's not forthcoming. You labor for intangible fruits. You're shouldering a lot and you can't seem to catch a break. You don't tell her all these, of course. She needn't worry about anything; work is good.

She can tell you're fibbing, after all, she has lied many times herself. She asks you to smile for her. It's out of the blue and you're not quite sure if she's trying to mock you. You're not frowning, your facial expression is perfectly normal. Why should she make such a request?  Is she being insensitive? No, no, far from it. She's not insensitive at all.

She's been there. Oh, she's been there. That same place where young people are. She's stared at the stars and wondered what the future held. She's stayed up late to complete her coursework. Quite possibly, her suitable suitor wasn't even one of her choosing. She had no say in the matter, and she must have been sad on her wedding day. She's been the subject of gossip.  She's flunked a test. She's burnt some food and oversalted others. She's been owed, she's been in debt. She's made mistakes, but she lives still.

Photo by Danie Franco on Unsplash

She beckons on you to smile, not because she doesn't know you're hurting, but because she has learned over time, what is really important. Smile, she says, despite everything. You try really hard to force a smile, if anything, for her to leave you be. Her face lights up as she watches you smile. Like a kid who's just seen a new toy perform the most wondrous act, she's much too delighted. You can't wrap your head around why your smile pleases her that much. Oh, but the reason is she knows too well, the possible reality that she has just seen you smile for the last time.

You feel a little better after the whole thing. You can't finish the food because she planned for you not to. She says she'll pack the rest so that you can finish it up when you get home. Again, you object and say that won't be necessary. Again, she plays deaf and packs it for you nonetheless. She is reluctant to let you go, but she knows you must. She reminds you to eat and rest and smile. She prays for you and blesses you. She says all will be well. She bids you goodbye and watches you fade into the distance, possibly for the last time.

Years pass and one morning you stumble on a picture. You don't lose your footing, of course, but you are a bit shaken from within. You observe the sepia-themed profile of a young woman who knew not that cars would one day drive themselves and could quite frankly, care less. Transfixed and with an air of immortality, she's beside your grandfather about to receive the blessings of matrimony. She is clearly happy—or at least as clearly as a 60-year old picture can reveal. And amidst the chaos in the world around you and the looming, inescapable reality of your broken dreams, you are reminded of her kind, gentle, and poignant love. You are reminded of what really matters. And you muster the courage to force a smile.

Fin

---

Thanks for reading, I’m delighted you made it here. If you liked this issue of Dear Bolu, you can sign up here so that new issues get sent directly to your inbox. If you really liked it, do tell a friend about it.

Write you soon, merci !

- Wolemercy