Heart Still Beating...

The night my grandpa died, he was rushed into the emergency room, which was nothing new. He had been diagnosed with esophageal cancer in March earlier this year, well, I think January...My mom didn't tell me until March. Anyways, my point is that doctor's visits and emergency room calls had been the usual for a while now. Each and every time, my mom would be the first one there. Always ready to drive an hour to appointments and translate complex medical jargon into conversational Vietnamese. Always bracing herself for that one emergency room visit or phone call...

That night, it was different. My mom's tone was different when she answered the phone, it was my grandma. He wasn't breathing well...

"Mom, calm down...I know, just calm down. He's going to panic if he sees you panicking. Call the ambulance. I'll meet you there. Mom, breathe and call the ambulance. I'm on my way"

It was already late and I had school the next day. I knew something was off in my mom's voice and in her demeanor when she was scrambling to get dressed and to get out of the house, yet I still asked how I was supposed to get to school tomorrow. Subconsciously reaching for that sense of normalcy before my world would be flipped upside down.

I think deep down, my mom knew that it was the last one. She knew what was coming. Me? I was still trying to process what was going on. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, climbed into bed, and just laid there staring at the ceiling until I felt it set in. First the panic, then the grief, this loss of control and understanding that had me gasping and struggling to breathe and I didn't know what to do.

Finally, I got down on my knees and prayed.

I prayed and cried, but I don't think I was praying for my grandpa to make it. I wasn't praying for a miracle. I was praying for my mom, for her pain to ease along with my grandpa's. I prayed for my grandpa's suffering to end, but I begged, begged with my forehead to the ground in humility, for my mom to be okay. I was hurting, but I couldn't cope with what she must be going through. That was what kept me on my knees repeating His Name over and over again until I could barely stay awake.

When I woke up to my alarm the next morning, I was about to get ready for school and walked downstairs when my dad stopped me.

"Don't go to school today, Hana...Your grandpa..."

I was back in my room before I could hear the rest.

When someone you love dies, it almost feels like tears don't do them justice. I was curled up in my sheets crying, but I couldn't comprehend that my grandpa was just...gone. One minute they are alive and loving you, the next minute they're not...but still loving you. I didn't see my grandpa every day. I definitely didn't visit him as much as I should have, especially when he was sick. Somehow, I thought that meant I didn't deserve to grieve. I stopped crying for a minute because I wondered why I had the right to cry when I had all these regrets, all these "I should've's" running through my head.

Then I remembered Galveston, how he would make the whole family wake up at the crack of dawn to get to the beach early so we could get the best spot before it got too hot and crowded. I remembered walking around Hong Kong market, letting him buy me all the treats and snacking on peanuts. I remembered sitting on the couch watching whatever he was watching, usually HGTV or soccer, because we didn't have too much to say, but that was okay. I remembered, so yes, I deserved to grieve. I deserved to cry for the family I had lost. So I cried, I cried until it hurt to keep my eyes open.

We had the funeral that same day. Seeing everyone who came to the funeral, everyone who was affected by my grandpa in some way, it was hard. I didn't want to see anyone at all that day. I saw my grandma though. A little more of my heart broke when she hugged me and broke down in tears again. My grandma, the woman who raised my mom, the kindest, the most patient out of the whole family, seeing her in that kind of pain is a different sadness in its entirety.

My mom hadn't slept in over 24 hours by the time we had finished the funeral late afternoon. We went home and she passed out in the same clothes she wore to the emergency room. She was the only one with him when he passed... My mom is the strongest person I know, hands down.

Later that night, we went to the masjid so that people could offer their condolences. When I mentioned in my first blog post that my friends are everything to me, I truly mean that. They held me in my mourning, and even managed to make me smile, scratch that, laugh. The first time I laughed that night, I stopped cold and almost threw up. Who was I to laugh? We had just buried my grandpa mere hours earlier. Joy felt wrong...like I was betraying his memory or something.

But when someone dies, your life doesn't stop. Your heart is still beating. If your heart is still beating, you can still feel every emotion out there. One at a time or all at once. You can be grieving, and still laugh. You can still smile and nod, but feel like your world is falling apart. That just means you're human. I had to convince myself of that every time I laughed. Every time that night, the next morning, and weeks later. I had to convince myself that even though my grandpa was gone, he still loves me. That I deserved to grieve and I wasn't betraying his memory. That I could honor him by being the best Muslim I could be and by taking care of my mom.

Here I am months later, heart still beating.

"To Him we belong and To Him we shall return" [Surah Al-Baqarah 2:156]