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Eyes wide open, staring ahead, yet seeing nothing. Each breath taken, a bargain with God in order to be had. Wrinkled flesh rising and sinking at a slower and slower pace, signaling the end that would inevitably come.
This is all that is left of my proud grandmother.
I sat across from her bed, watching her with upmost curiousity. Could this really be the same woman who had beaten down men twice her size and half her age? Could this be the same woman who had run a farm on her own when such things were unheard of? Could this woman be, my grandmother?
Yet, even as I stared, there wasn't a doubt in my mind. She refused to give up, constantly fighting to hold onto whatever it was that she still had.
I had pondered this moment all of my life, wondering how I would react to her death. In my youth I had foolishly bragged that I would dance on the witch's grave and take pleasure in it. This was a woman who had spent her entire life torturing me. Completely horrified by my gender, female, she craved a grandson, as all Jewish women do. She lived with us when my brother was born, and made sure to constantly throw her love for him in my face.
How I wanted her love.
I remember my brother dropping his glass, then not telling anyone about it. I missed seeing the broken shards on the floor and sliced up the soles of my feet. I cried out, and ran to the bathroom, leaving small footprints of blood in my wake. I was smacked for the mess.
I cried out for her hand. She gave it to my brother.
She called me fat, I became anorexic.
I craved her wisdom, she gave me an encyclopedia, claiming that I was too dumb to understand what she had to teach.
I yearned for her love, but she gave me contempt.
I grew to hate her so quickly. It didn't take much, for years of her loathing had struck me. My parents couldn't believe how she acted toward me, for I was the only one she treated this way.
But to dance on her grave? How ignorant I was to think that I could ever truly hate the woman. But did I love her? I was not sure.
Memories and confusion clouded my mind as I watched her continuing to struggle. The rabbi had been called to be with her in her last few moments on the planet, but she was denied even this right. He was far away, visiting his home of South Africa. All the other rabbis were just as unavailable. We gave her our own ceremony, chanting Hebrew prayers that have been recited for the dying since the beginning of humanity.
A slow smile spread across her lips as she heard the ancient words, and then I knew. I knew what had been occuring between us the entire time.
It was an epiphany. My first true epiphany. My entire life she had always treated me as if I wasn't good enough, never good enough for her. I had strived above and beyond, trying my hardest to gain her attention, and had become successful in almost all areas. It was then, just then, that I realized she had planned it all along. She had purposely pushed me into being something that she knew I could become, something that she would make me become.
Carefully I stood up and walked over to her, taking her delicate hand in mine. She kept staring straight ahead, that same blank look veiling her eyes, but I knew that she was aware of my prescence. I could feel it. I leaned down and, oh so gently, kissed her worn cheek. "I love you grandma."
Her lips twitched, as if trying to make a smile, and a soft gurgling came from her throat. I understood what she meant though, and gently squeezed her hand in mine as I leaned down to give her one more hug.
It took me a few minutes to realize that she had stopped breathing.
Eyes clouded with tears, I carefully closed her eyelids and kissed her forehead.
Oseh shalom beem'roh'mahv, hoo y'aseh shalom aleynu v'al kohl yisrael v'eemru: Amein
He who makes peace in his heights, may He make peace, upon us and upon all Israel. Amen.
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