Nauseous and weighed down by a pit in my stomach. I feel the same things I felt that day in silences that often overwhelm my senses. I cried for you, I felt the insides of the void you left behind and cried some more.
I didn't know you as much as I should have. I didn't talk to you as much as I should have. I didn't hold your hand or massage your feet as much as I should have. I didn't understand that you could go away, as much as I should have.
I regret my callousness when I remember how they cried when you left us. When I remember how I cried when I thought of the pain everyone was going through.
Ever since I could see, I saw you. Smiling and praying and scolding. I never did expect that you would have to leave. We never think that the places we seen since birth could one day no longer be there, do we?
But thank you, thank you for calling me your grandson, for praying for me night after night, for imprinting powerful Bible verses into me. For giving me your vitamin candies. For holding my heavy hand in your frail one.
You are the kindest soul I have ever seen, always smiling, always talking to random people like they're your children. You smiled better than flowers did and spoke of only good things. Never did I hear a harsh word even begin to form on your lips.
I am sorry. If I could, I'd remember all your smiles and all your wrinkles. And all your love.

Thank you for being my grandmother.

To grandmothers, whose love is vast,
A steady light, forever cast.
In kitchens warm, with spices sweet,
They cook with hands that know defeat.
Ammachi with her payasam,
Fruit salad bright as morning’s calm,
Onion curry, mango bliss—
Her meals, a comforting embrace, a kiss.
Ammama’s gulab jamun so rich,
Pulissery’s warmth, the perfect pitch.
Cabbage, cutlets, plantains fried,
Each bite a journey, a love undenied.
They mastered the art of nourishing hearts,
With every dish, their soul imparts.
In every meal, a story told,
Of years gone by, of love so bold.
Ammama, devoted, through every storm,
A life of care, her heart was warm.
An arranged love, yet pure and true,
She showed us what devotion could do.
And Ammachi, with her graceful hands,
Still practices yoga, as life demands.
Her strength, both quiet and profound,
A gentle force that’s always around.
Yet here I stand, so far apart,
From the homemakers with such art.
My life’s a different kind of dance,
A different path, a second chance.
But still I feel, within my soul,
The love that makes their lives whole.
In every meal, in every move,
Grandmothers teach us how to love and prove.
So here's to you, those steady hands,
You made the world, and made the plans.
Your love’s a legacy, deep and true,
Grandmothers, this one’s for you.