Things change

Finished class today to realize my sister had rung four times. Left no message. “What’s going on?” I texted her. She called back right away. “Well, you see, the thing is…” “What?” I was sure it was something silly. Something amusing. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately…and they've been trying to cheer me up. 

But, it wasn't that. 

“Well, it’s Bhabi (grandmother). She’s…not here anymore.” “Where is she?”, I didn’t get it. Then, I did. I knew she'd been sick but apparently things got worse. The doctors were talking of cutting off fingers and hands because of gangrene. I didn't even know people could still get gangrene when they were in hospital. But, this is Nepal. A different world. Which I often forget.

I grew up with my grandparents. I lived with them. They called me "Nani" ("girl"). No one else does. My granddad went to all my school functions, end of term meetings, made sure everything was ok and always thought I would do a PhD (first person in the family—ever!). My grandmother packed lunch in the mornings before school, always (always) told me how much she missed me when her and granddad rang (my parents don’t really do this) and listened to all my complaints and whingeing when I was growing up. She was patient, extremely hard-working and the nicest person I’ve ever met. She used to say about herself: “Here I am, a girl from a tiny village and your granddad took me all around the world! I couldn’t believe it about myself.” [my granddad worked for the Ministry of Industry and they travelled to South America, US, all over Western Europe and, of course, India and China and elsewhere in Asia in the 1950s]. I want to think I got my love for travel off her. Definitely didn’t get the niceness.

I keep on thinking I should have called more often; I should have said more; I should have…

And, tomorrow, I have to stop crying, get on with the day, take the latest job candidate around, have lunch with them, and act as though nothing’s changed.

When it has.