So, in honor of Mother’s Day, I want to write about my mother’s mother. Teta Samira. For some of you reading this, this may be news but, my grandma passed away about two weeks ago. I’ve been wanting to talk about her for a while…I guess today’s a good a day as any.
It’s strange… I was closer to my grandma when she lived halfway across the world, than when she lived a mile and a half away. When I was younger and she still lived in Egypt, her visits were the highlights of my year. I loved going to the airport to pick her up, and I absolutely hated watching her go through the gates to go back home.
But the time in between was always interesting. Of course, she spent most of it in the kitchen making me kahk while pretending she didn’t notice me stealing the little pieces of the sweet filling she put in her cookies. Or she was making grape leaves and I was pretending to help her.
I remember that she always shared my room when she visited. She told me stories that she would make up on the spot. There’s one I’ll never forget… about a Saidi family… it’s too complicated to write here though. Let me just say it was the goofiest thing I’ve ever heard. My dad would always get upset because I was never going to bed on time when she was there to keep me up with her stories.
Teta hated violence. I remember watching “Jesus of Nazareth” with her, and her leaving the room as soon as the crucifixion came. (One thing that will always confuse me is how, years later, she was able to watch parts of “The Passion.”) I didn’t think about it much until the funeral but, my teta really was such a cheerful, calm, graceful lady. I can’t even imagine her yelling.
When I was nine, my grandparents moved to the States. For a few months they lived in our house, but eventually moved a few blocks away. Things got awkward. Whenever I visited my grandparents, I would kind of just sit there and listen to my mom talking to them. And that was in itself difficult because of the ever-thickening language barrier.
As I got older, visiting my grandparents wasn’t really mandatory anymore. So I still went, but not as often. And when I did it was for short periods of time. I remember a few times though when my grandma and I tried to relive the story of the Saidi family. And of course every time I was there she, just like any grandmother, stuffed my face with every sweet thing she could think of.
The few weeks before Teta died were a little scary. Every now and then, her oxygen just wouldn’t work. The family would panic, the ambulance would come, and then everything would go back to normal. I knew it was very possible she wouldn’t be here much longer, but it still seemed too surreal.
On Wednesday April 20th I was leaving for a youth convention. On the Tuesday before, I went to see Teta, and she wasn’t responding to anything. My mom, uncle, and I tried to wake her up so I could say goodbye before I left. She just kept on sleeping.
On Thursday morning, Teta went through the gates to go home. This time I wasn’t there to wave her off. I can’t say whether or not it would have been easier for me. I think it may have been the best for me to have been away when it happened.
But in any case, while I do miss her, and I do wish I had spent more time with her when I could have, I know this isn’t the end. I’ve got myself a ticket to the same destination. And even though I don’t know when my flight is, I know she’ll be at the gates waiting for me.
