For Gran

When faced with death - the death of a loved one - everyone becomes a shadow. Words become sounds, devoid of meaning, like murmurs in a crowded room. Every person who has died in my family has become part of my conscience. They sit on my shoulder and judge every waking second of my life. I often find myself acting based on what my grandfather would have done or what he would have thought of me. When someone you know dies, you feel ashamed to smile. You should be sad, shouldn’t you? You should be grieving. Perhaps you should force yourself to think deeply about them so that you might muster one genuine tear. Would you cry if you heard about someone dying on the news? Would you cry if I died?

I lost my cell-phone over the weekend. It’s gone, never to be seen again. The frustration of losing one’s forth cell-phone is enough to make one hysterical. The hope that comes with denial has you pacing up and down over the places where you might have left it as if you will discover it under some sock or chair. I had to beg my mother to buy me that phone. I had to bargain with my grades. Oh, the frustration! I wanted to fold over and cry. I wanted to rip up my clothes and break anything I could. I wanted to punish myself for being so careless. I actually did cry a little. I crawled up into a ball on my bed with my fist clenched and whined though my teeth. How could you be so stupid? How could I ever speak to my mom again? I spent the next day in the boarding school trying to figure out how to get it back. I told all my friends about the frustration and they sympathised. It felt like my life was over.

I am one of three children. My brother is eight years older than me and my sister ten. When I was two years old my father was killed. My sister would have been twelve. Even though I was too young to remember my father, I still have not got over it. Tragedy is the loss of potential happiness. I still cry over the loss of the potential life with my father. I also cry in empathy. Empathy for my siblings and my mother who lost him at the peak of their family life. I feel ashamed when I cry because I have never seen my brother do so. Surely he, being ten at the time, would have been affected to a greater extent than me. I didn't lose anything except potential. He lost a father. Why do I cry?

Later that night I use a friend's phone to call my mother. "Hello? Hello, Tom? Finally - I've been trying to get hold of you all day!" says mom when she answers the phone. She's being trying to get hold of me. I think I am in trouble. "I have some bad news," she says. The room begins to spin around me. When my mother says that I know something is wrong. All these possible scenarios flash before me. Has my brother been in an accident? Has someone got cancer? No. It's my grandmother. She died yesterday. I remain silent for a few seconds. I feel guilty about doing this because it is an act. I listen to her story and I am sad but the feelings of grief are absent. I decided not to tell her about the phone. "I'm sorry, mom." I don't know what else to say.

Can I muster a tear? She was so old and lonely. I am actually happy that she can now be free. I manage to cry a bit by thinking about how my mom must be feeling. I cry more by thinking about how it must feel to lose a parent. Now I am crying because I have started to think about dad. The lost potential of my dad. I am crying now because I feel the guilt. I didn't force myself to care about my phone. Why cry? Why can't I suffer in silence? I cry because all the people who make up my conscience are shaking their heads in disapproval. My grandfathers, my father, my gran, they sit and shake their heads at every revolting whimper that escapes my lips. I don't care about why I weep. I am now the shadow. My words are now just sounds. I weep now and I know that these tears, gran, these tears that have been spawned out of guilt, out of sympathy, out of tragedy, are for you. I cry for you.