Goodnight Granny
My maternal grandmother and I greeted each other the same exact way each morning, a simple:
“Good morning Nyengo.”
“Good morning Granny.”
That’s it. She might have thrown in something every now and then, like tickling my feet to wake me up since I’m not a morning person so she was ALWAYS up before me. But aside from that the order and wording were always the same, with no flair whatsoever. I didn’t even realise how ingrained it was in me until one of my uncles greeted me with those same words and I almost called him granny.
It might seem trivial but that little morning ritual we had is one of my favourite memories of her. And we had lived together my entire life, so naturally, we had a lot of memories together. She was basically my second parent, forming a dynamic duo with my mum to create one of the most amazing people to ever live (I said what I said).
There were a lot of other people in the house as I grew up, but it still always felt like those two were the ones steering the ship. They’d even switch roles between good cop and bad cop so I’d always have to be on my toes. And it felt like they’d both be around to see all the work they put into me come to fruition.
Sadly, that was just a feeling. Granny passed away on January 13th, 2015, just before my 20th birthday. I could easily go into a sob fest about how much I miss her or all the things I wish she were around to see, but I won’t bore you with that (that’s what my therapist is for).
Instead, I want to remember another little ritual we had. Every night as I was growing up we parted ways the same way. One of us would say “goodnight, sweet dreams,” and the other would say the same. Then, somewhere along the years, I started adding “I love you” to the end of it and she’d respond by saying it back. Sometimes she’d even emphasize it by saying “I love you so so so much.” It was sweet, and I loved hearing it, but I started that because I really wanted her to hear it from me. It might sound ridiculous but I thought if I, for whatever reason, died in my sleep before my 80-something-year-old grandmother, I wanted that to be the last thing she heard from me.
As you might be able to tell, that wasn’t exactly how it worked out. I’m still alive (again, any comments I have about the fact that I am still breathing I’ll reserve for my therapist) and she isn’t. But our last conversation was pretty similar to our goodnight ritual.
She had a stroke and while she was in the hospital I used to visit her. After one of my visits, we parted ways the same way we always did. I told her I loved her, and even though she couldn’t respond I’m sure she said it back in her heart. Then I left, not knowing it would be the last time I saw her alive. And even though I didn’t get the chance to give her a long speech and tell her every single thing I appreciated about her, I’m still glad those were the words we left each other on. And if by any crazy chance in this strange universe, all the beautiful wayward things make their way to heaven and she’s able to see this, then I’d like to say it one more time. Goodnight Granny, sweet dreams, I love you.
