It has been nine days since Grandma's departure. I may have long ago learn to accept that Death is not to be feared; conditioning myself time and again that this is part and parcel of life, that the battle was finally over and she need not suffer anymore, but why do I feel as though a part of me died too along the way?
Grandma came from a time where Chinese traditions were still held with reverence, and since she was a devout Buddhist throughout her life, it was only fitting that a traditional Buddhist funeral be held. She would have wanted it that way. So her family did, and it lasted for five days. The whole ceremony was just.....how should I describe it, 'surreal' - as though I was being disconnected from the present world we lived in and transported back to a time when superstitions prevailed amongst the Chinese community, when Chinese customs still reign supreme. Dad said this was a 'once-in-a-lifetime experience', for such complex practices (it was already "watered-down" in comparision to the original btw) are now rare. I will blog an entry or two on the ceremonies, but only when I am ready to do so. Now is just not the right time.
There is one thing that keeps me happy; Grandma had certainly lived her life to the fullest, right up to the ripe old age of 91 (as stated in her passport, although her children uniamously claimed she was born earlier) before she succumbed to cancer, which was only diagnosed in the last 3-4 months.
Sigh.
Things are not going to be the same without her anymore.
