I have never been close to my grandma, we misunderstood each other so much, but after her death and my life events I found out that we are much more closer than I ever thought. It might be my imagination only, but whatever you can imagine is half real, right?
Celebrating our daughters birthday on her grave is not something you would call normal, usual. In my culture there is a saying that it is bad fortune to grieve outloud for your lost child. I can imagine what kind of blasphemy it is to make her a cake and put a candle on it.
It’s not easy though. It messes up with your brain so badly, you get spiritually separated between unknown dimensions. You get a lot of silence, because you don’t know what should you say or do. There is the memory, that is both your enemy and your best friend, for fading away and for being there anyway.
My grandmother lost three of her children during her lifetime. One never saw the daylight and fell asleep inside her, second one didn’t manage to live long after its fourth month and the third one lived with her for long 40 years with restrained mental capabilities.
Couple days ago I have seen one photo of her with my grandpa holding the third one. They decided to take picture while they were visiting doctors to see what was wrong with their baby. My grandpa had pain in his face, but it was dull to what was coming. My grandma, on the other side, had her lips tightly closed, jaw firm, her eyesight fixated and cold as ice. You can hear that deadly silence before the thunderstorm in her face. She wanted to have at least the picture of this baby before it dies. And she was ready to whatever it was coming. She knew it was her who will take all the suffering. I wonder if anyone had been understanding her pain?
Her poor soul living in a female body, I wonder if she ever had the support of my grandpa or she was thinking it was her duty to handle all the pain, as she did.
I wish I was more understanding and she was more alive so we could talk. I would tell her all things about Aurora and show her all her photos. I would ask her about her babies, how they were. She would tell me some very orthodox things like you should be first married before having babies, but that’s fine, I would explain Aurora is our marriage certificate. She would firstly react as the rest of the carcinogen society she lived in, that God wanted it that way and we cannot change it. I would later explain her that there is a whole other world of science doing research on baby loss, and that many baby losses are prevented due the enough care and information. I would tell her that my God doesn’t take my baby away, sorry, she would frown, but she would understand what I meant. We would talk so much and understand each other, alive, not like this.
Our genetical connectedness with our ancestors is so strange, sometimes I feel we inherited more than physical and cognitive, sometimes I feel we inherited feelings and the way our ancestors fought or lived with them. Like Mozart knew how to play piano at his early stage of life, I knew how to live without my baby. Actually, it’s not a knowledge, it’s continuity. I pray for my next ones to be born healthy, alive, to live long and happy after me.
I didn’t cry for my daughter’s birthday, it felt strange. I could not feel her presence at her grave. I could feel part of her inside me while hugging the urn. I would be thinking how her ashes are mixed with the body pijama I gave to crematorium, written all over I love mom and I love dad.
I hope she’s nice and cozy with all the grandpas and grandma and dogs we no longer have here.
It’s been hell of a year, we still celebrated life in spite of death.
We love you Ljubav,