My grandmother was a homemaker who had four children and had lost a child a few hours after giving birth to him. She managed the house all by herself along with managing her kids and her husband with what all portion of grandfather’s pay she was given. Anyone who knew her says she was the ‘kindest soul who would feed anyone who came home’. Except for a few times of doting over her grand kids she wasn’t vocal about her feelings.
Eventually she suffered from alzhiemer’s in her layer years.
Even in those later years she somehow would manage to look at the watch and wait for me to come home from my new (and first) job. She would be delighted without fail to watch me step into the house and call me to sit with her.
I was not doing so well for a newly appointed person because of the burning anxiety in my chest consuming me every single day.
Not having said a word to my family about it, I sit down with her to drown my thoughts out with the 70s music she likes to listen and watch on the screen. But then a cold wrinkly shivering hand comes rest on mine and asks me “Are you sure you’re okay dear?”
So, yes. My grandmother would be the first person in the heavens to cheer me on she watches me get better and achieve the voice she could not in her lifetime.
She would be proud of me
Because I can tell now that I am getting better than I was back then