By Raghad Genina
As I wander through the familiar space of my youth two years later, I feel like a ghost in my own memory. I stand by the entrance of the living room and relive those late nights in Alexandria, when he would call for me and ask me to sit next to him. His head on my shoulder, my hand in his. Seeking comfort, he would ask me to kiss his head ten times. And when he counted to ten, it felt like it was never enough. He would then ask me to recite Surah Al-Fatiha to him, a testament to his faith. Even as his memories faded, his faith was the one thing he never let go of.
The love of a grandfather is irreplaceable; when he passed, it felt like something was missing. It took me a while to figure out what it was. But the more time passed, the more I realized that the lump I get in my throat when I think of him, and the part of me that feels missing, it is love in the shape of grief with nowhere to go.
Anticipatory grief is a precursor to the real thing and worse. As I left Egypt the summer before he passed, I knew deep down that this might be our last goodbye. My grandfather’s health was declining and something in me knew that I might not see him the next time I came to visit my home country. I could not understand it then, but I do now. Those nights I would spend sitting next to him for hours, the sadness that overcame me was all grief. I knew what was going to happen next, and even though he was still sitting next to me, the anticipation of it was the worst part.
We often treat grief like an obstacle we need to overcome, but it is not. Grief will always be there. Even though the aching feeling might fade, the love you had for the person never will. Grief is not a burden. It is proof that that person was loved and that pain is nothing more than a representation of the love you had for them.
The pain of loss is a universal experience, yet no matter what anyone tells you about it, nothing can truly prepare you for it. The moment you lose someone, it feels like something is being ripped away from you. The hardest part was being across the world when it happened—not being able to say one final goodbye.
I look back at the last two years and realize that being able to mourn my grandfather was a privilege. Knowing him, his life lessons, his character and taking that with me wherever I go is a privilege. The initial shock of loss is always overwhelming, but the grief which follows is a constant companion. I learned to live with it instead of trying to get rid of it. I have begun to embrace it because, without it, there is no other feeling to remind you of their presence. The pain of grief is a reminder of the memories, laughter and conversations that we once shared. And by embracing it, I now honour his memory.
Riadh Magazine 