Hurts Like Heaven

About six years ago around this time, my grandma underwent surgery to remove a cancerous lump in her breast. I remember standing outside the Penn bookstore just staring at my phone. Wanting to call but not knowing what to say. Sometimes, there is nothing to say. Those are the moments when being in one another's company, just sitting in silence, is more powerful than any word could be. After running through different variations of conversations in my head, I finally dialed the number. It ended up being rather anticlimactic. My grandma picked up. Hello? The best I could do was Hi...it's me. Are you okay? My grandma chuckled. I'm fine. How are you? Our conversation progressed as it would have on any other normal day, with my grandma asking about the goings-on in my life. She was always putting others before herself. She didn't want to dwell on her surgery. She was too strong a woman for that.

My grandma passed away this morning. Her cancer had spread over the past couple years. After receiving the worst possible news one can receive, I went through the rest of my day in a sort of funk. Junior year of high school, my soccer team had a game in San Francisco. It was so foggy that we couldn't see each other, our opponents, the goals, or the ball. We were just running aimlessly through this shroud of fog. Going through my day today felt a bit like that.

There were little things that pushed past that fog and grabbed my attention. Things like a smile on a friend's face. Things like the crisp, cool Autumn air. Those parts of life that are made even more beautiful in the context of death.

My grandma was an appreciator of the small things. A couple summers ago, I visited her in Chennai. I hadn't seen her for several years. The second I walked into her flat, she looked me up and down. One of those nurturing, maternal assessments. Your nose looks great she said to me matter-of-factly. I stared back at her blankly. I was really worried about your nose when you were younger. It looked kind of pressed in. It looks much better now. The really small things.

I haven't talked to my grandma in quite a while. I did think about her everyday, though. Just a couple weeks ago, the Women's Network at work had a Breast Cancer Awareness social. That day, I thought I should definitely call her today. I got caught up in what now, in the grander scheme of things, seems rather meaningless. I didn't end up calling. I regret it now, but in some senses, death can always be coupled with a regretful sadness.

Several years ago, my grandparents bought a computer. My grandma was beside herself with excitement. She immediately went out and started taking computer classes. Soon she was teaching my grandpa what to do. He told me once that she was much better with computer than he was. He pretended to be annoyed, but really he was falling in love again. She seized every opportunity of every day.

Lists are a big part of my life. Tasks I intend to complete each day, short-term projects, long-term goals. There's something empowering about crossing things off the list. And I do a lot of crossing off. But today I realized that some of the most important things in my life aren't on any list.  And unfortunately, these are the things that fall off at the end of the day. Something like making a simple phone call.

There's no reason to be constantly thinking about the "grand schemes" of things or the "end of the day." Because in each separate moment, the small stuff is the most invigorating. The most thrilling. But once in a while, when you step back and look at the whole picture, make sure you've tackled things that are important to you in all contexts.

Life is all about juggling a mix-bag of rubber and glass balls. You can afford to drop the rubber ones now and then. They'll bounce right back up. But the glass ones? You get only one chance with those. Identify them and hold them close.

She passed away in her sleep and looked quite peaceful, I'm told. That she is no longer suffering, that she is now reunited with her husband, my late grandpa, make me tearfully content. Here's to the small things. And to one of the strongest women I know.