The Finite

Part of being alive seems to be a lack of understanding of just how fragile life is. We are at the centre of a constant dizzying whirl of changes; growing up, growing old, growing stronger, growing weaker and we never stop to think that one day, everything we hold dear is not going to be here any more. Not only that, one day we are not going to be here any more. So we fritter away our time on the meaningless and trivial, because that's the only way we know how to live. Unfortunately, a big part of being human is not realising how much time you waste from day to day.

I'm not writing this to gather sympathy. I write this only to impart a lesson upon you all- a lesson that should not have to be learned in such a painful way, but often is, because there's no other way for it to sink in. What I want to tell you is to appreciate your loved ones. Let them know how much you care for them, because while they probably know, there's no harm in letting it be said. Spend as much time with them as you possibly can, because you don't know when they are going to leave you. You don't know when it'll be the last time you'll get to tell them how much they mean to you and how much you care. The last time you give them a hug goodbye. The last time you hear them on the phone. The last time they tell you goodbye.

At this current moment, there is nowhere I would rather be than in a hospital room in Manchester, surrounded by my relatives we watch over the woman who is responsible for beginning our family. My Grandmother Lydia is a woman who should not have survived. Born into one of the most poverty stricken countries in the world, she watched her father and siblings die slowly of malnutrition, and was separated from the rest of her family when she fled the Nazi invasion of the Ukraine. Grandma Lydia was barely a teenager when she last saw her mother and sisters, and she always told me that all she wanted to do was go home, hug her mother and give her a glass of water. I find it so oddly painful that right now, I want the same thing; to go to my grandmother, smooth her hair back from her forehead and give her a glass of water. I've been calling her on and off these last couple of days to let her know that I love her, and I miss her so much... but without being able to touch her, I feel like I can't say goodbye properly. And while there's the slimmest, most minuscule chance she could still fight her way through this, I don't dare to hope. I don't dare to hold off on my goodbyes.

I went back to the UK a few months ago for the first time in ten years, which was when I last saw my Grandmother. I remember thinking about how small she looked- small, and old, but still so strong and sharp. My family has always told me that I inherited my stubborn nature from her, and it's something I'm proud of, because it means that I am a fighter, just like her. This woman suffered so much in her lifetime- never once getting a chance to have a break, a brief respite from all the hurt that plagued her. Where most people would have given up, she traveled to a foreign country and started a family in a place where she couldn't even speak the language. She lost her own mother, but then became one to four children; four children that love her so dearly, and know that despite growing up poor, she gave them so much.

My Grandmother used to work three jobs to support her family. This often meant she couldn't always be there, but she kept her children fed and clothed, and they never doubted for a moment how much she loved them. She was often sick- years of malnutrition does that to a person- and there were times where she was so ill that her children were placed into care. Even then, it took so much to separate my grandmother from her family. She never wanted to leave them. Even now, as she's lying in hospital hooked up to an oxygen machine, she's telling us she doesn't want to go. And God, we don't want her to go.

Her one want was for all her family to stay with her as she goes. And although my Mum and I can't be there, we've been told that we're in her dreams. Sometimes, she tells them that we visited only a few hours ago. I remember when I saw her for the first time in a decade, she thought for a moment that it was my mother, back at age 18. I know that she's just hallucinating from her pain medication, but it feels comforting to know that she thinks we're there. I've managed to skype her at one of her more lucid moments and while she couldn't really talk back, she tried to smile at me, even though she could see how hard it was for me not to cry.

Grandma Lydia has always tried to keep the family together; and she continues to do that, even when she's so close to leaving us. My mother and her sister spoke the other day for the first time since before I was born, and finally apologised for all the hurt they caused one another. When I last went to England, I met my Uncle Tony for the first time, and now have another whole element to my family I didn't know existed. I only wish all this could have happened sooner, at a time when my grandmother was still well. I only wish I could have had more time, because I love this woman so much and all I ever wanted was for her to be happy.

I know I have a fair few issues with people. I expect disappointment. I expect hurt and misunderstandings. But my Grandma Lydia is someone who has never let me down. In my eyes, she is the perfect human being; a person who does not complicate things with hate and grudges. All she ever did was love me unconditionally. I doubt there's anything I could do to make her pride in me diminish. She always provides me with wisdom; every time we talked on the phone, she would remind me to "be good to your Mum and Dad, because they're the only ones you've got". She reminded me not to be bitter. And every time I had something happen in my life, something that would knock me back for a fair while... she would remind me of what she had been though, and that I have the strength to survive anything.

There is still a part of me that is hoping someone will call in the next day and tell me that's she's getting better. There's been a few of those calls already, but they are slowly tapering off, and I fear the next one I get will be the one that lets me know she's gone. And I know that if that happens, I'm going to say it's not fair that I didn't get more time. It's not fair that I couldn't say goodbye. It's not fair that a person I love so much is not going to be here any more. But there was never any illusion that life could be fair. We can only recognize this and do our best to live and love regardless. If Grandma Lydia has taught me anything, it's the importance of allowing yourself to love, regardless of what has happened to you. You may become bitter. You may be afraid of being hurt. But to love one another is infinitely more important, as at the end of the day, all we have is each other.