We Grow from our Graves

Do we have the will to lead us where we want to go? Or does life often provide circumstances and obstacles that derail us from where we intend to go? If we are tossed about, do we ever recover? Or are some things too grave to grow back from? These sorts of thoughts plagued Freya from as young as she could remember. Well, that’s not true - she remembered quite clearly when dark, intrusive thoughts began to spring through her young, naive, fairy-filled fields of wonder. It happened around the age of ten, and while still an adolescent, grasping an understanding of the world, the stark realities that hit following her grandpa’s demise stuck with her like an infected scar. Neglected, gnawing.

Freya recalled the changes began subtly, then all at once. Grandpa Rob was always the one to cook her breakfast in the mornings over summer break when her parents went to work. Freya recalls the mornings with her grandpa like they happened yesterday - he would meet her in the living room as he set the coffee table with an array of fresh vegetables and herbs, paired with hot fried eggs still sizzling from the pan, and fresh pita bread just warmed in the oven. Rob joined her cross-legged over the smell of salted egg and thyme, stirring a generous amount of sugar into her cup of chai, swishing the black tea in clockwise movements until it had cooled to her liking.

“Now, Jidi, how are we this morning?” Her grandpa wore a sweet smile that extended to his light blue eyes, the mark of his long-lived years showing as creases near his eyes. Jido meant “grandpa” in her native Arabic tongue, and ironically, Jidi - my grandpa - also played as a term of endearment to his young granddaughter. It felt like a language spoken that only they knew. Freya smiled back excitedly before diving into her long-winded response of the morning, the hustle of her older siblings packing their bags for camp and work at the local cafe. She threw her arms up in exaggeration as she explained how their mother rushed them out the door, and the frustration she felt when her outfit didn’t match. Rob nodded along, smile growing even bigger, as he listened to her reenactments. Freya held these memories dear to her heart, unaware that they were soon to be gone.

It was a late October morning when it first happened. Freya rushed through the front door and into her grandpa’s arms, her mother following closely behind, sharing a warm smile with her father as he embraced his granddaughter. You are grandpa’s girl, her mother teased them. Freya rushed to the living room with her book and settled into her favourite corner couch as she waited to hear her mother’s departure. Rob turned the corner with the same sweet smile as he asked Freya what was for breakfast - this always made Freya laugh, because breakfast was always the same, and she loved it.

The cool autumn winds whistled through the alleys and corridors outside as Freya waited for her grandpa. Preoccupied with her novel, it took a moment to realize that her grandpa still hadn’t returned from the kitchen. It struck her as odd, but she waited patiently, thinking maybe he was still cutting the cucumber and preparing the mint leaves for their morning meal. The grumbling of her stomach urged her to jump off the couch in pursuit of the kitchen, thinking that maybe he had forgotten about her. The apartment felt cold and damp as Freya rounded the corner, and confusion met her as she saw her grandpa still standing in front of the now closed door. He didn’t move; he has been there since her mother left.

“Grandpa?” Freya began to skip towards him, but quickly came to a halt. That is when she noticed his hushed laughter under his breath, his head slumped, eyes peaking up at the walls before him. “What’s funny, Jido?” Freya asked hesitantly with a nervous giggle, hoping he would turn and smile at her like always. Jido didn’t move. He continued giggling in an unbroken stare at the closed door. Freya reached out to tug on his sleeve when his neck snapped towards her, eyes wide, his laughter coming to a sudden halt, replaced by a chilling shriek she hadn’t heard come from him before. Her cries immediately echoed in the hallways, and for the first time, of what became many, as she ran.

Alzheimer's. That’s what she grew to learn about the illness that took hold of her grandpa. She struggled to eat breakfast for months to follow, fearing that the same sickness would claim her too, regardless of the amount of reassurance her mother gave her. Freya recalled visiting her Jido only a few times following that day. He never looked at her like he did in those early mornings; instead, he kept a dazed, absent look when she approached that sent chills down her back. As she grew older, recalling those moments only fueled a fiery anger in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t face it, she wasn’t strong enough, she thought. Understanding that the days with him on this earth were limited, she grew resentful of what grew in place of her beloved grandpa. Determined to preserve what remaining memories she had of his conscious presence, her visits to him became fewer and less frequent.

****

Shame befell her. Therapy didn’t help; still, her mother continued booking weekly sessions in hopes that her daughter would soften her once kind heart, and allow herself to reconsider the stacked wall she continued to build with her family. Sinister. No longer warm, but a sinister, sick smile crossed her grandpa’s unrecognizable face. Guilt immediately followed her thoughts. How could she describe her grandpa as sinister? But some things are justified, she argued. Now in her teenage years, Freya left for school early and returned home late, using the flat as a place to sleep and eat, nothing more. Her mother had since given up on trying to persuade her, recognizing that Freya is no longer the sweet, beloved daughter who flew into their arms at first sight. Her daughter became distant, colder, rejecting emotions that would foster her humanity.

It was a Tuesday morning when Freya was called out of her math class. The school receptionist, a greying older lady with a colourful, patterned lanyard swinging on her neck, met her with a nervous smile and pitiful eyes. Walking her to the front desk and handing her the telephone, Freya knew in her gut what this could mean.

“He doesn’t have long, mama. He was rushed in this morning and has been in and out of consciousness. He is awake now, please come to see him.” her mother pleaded. Freya clenched her fist, familiar with her anger, but not understanding it still.

****

He looked worse than she remembered. Fighting the pit in her stomach, she walked into the hospital room. The blinds were pulled open, revealing rays of sun against the layers of blankets on her Jido. He lay with his head to the side, eyes shut, sleeping, she assumed - she hoped. Her mother had gone to eat lunch at the cafeteria, leaving Freya and her grandpa alone, for the first time since that October night. Carefully, she lowered herself to the worn blue couch that faced him and stared in absolute stillness. She was afraid to move, afraid to talk, not knowing what would come after. Memories of her childhood began to flood in. Some of the wrinkles on his face are familiar, some foreign and new to her. She turned away, unable to look for long, fighting the tears that were swelling and begging to surface, she pulled out her phone and began to scroll through her socials.

“Who are you?” The sound startled her as she snapped her gaze towards the source. Her grandpa was watching her, eyes tired but open. Her mouth dropped, but no noise came out. Met the reality of the situation, she didn’t know how to respond. First off, she hadn’t seen him in over a year, so he may not recognize her from that alone - but if he's forgotten her entirely, she knew she couldn’t correct him, afraid to frighten him. A soft smile began to form on his face.

“Jido, I asked who are you?” her grandpa repeated in a teasing tone, awareness suddenly filling the room like the sun’s rays. Jido? She thought wearily, not wanting to be wrong. The tears now rushing down her cheeks, unable to stop the pit in her stomach from rushing out, all the suppressed emotion and disdain dissolving.

“Grandpa?” Freya choked out between her breaths.

“Ah - I asked about you. Who are you? You are supposed to respond 'grandpa’s girl', remember.” he chuckled. She rushed over into his arms, for the first time in years. He hushed her as she fell into apologies, explanations, sharing her remorse of not having been there for him sooner. Jido reassured her as he patted her back with his shaky, aging hands. Assuring her that he understood. This only made Freya sob harder, releasing the pain she clung onto, the shame she housed, the love she denied.

“Do not fret, my dear Freya. We lose ourselves at times, but we come back to ourselves in the end. We are only human.” Her grandpa held her in his embrace for what felt like hours. Their moment was interrupted by her beaming mother, a calm covering her for the first time in what felt like forever, holding a tray of three chai’s in her hand, she walked over and joined their smiles.