So even though her body started giving way she never let her mind go

You couldn’t walk away from her without your belly full and without having engaged in a long conversation

Sometime during the early part of the year, at the end of a regular weekend visit, I sat down next to my neney (grandmother) to say goodbye. My grandmother, Ezmaline Zunaiha Jaro, always hated it when we left her; even when we promised we would return the next day or weekend. She usually protested with “don’t go, stay here with me” or “why do you need to leave”, but this time was different. This time, she grabbed my hand and said “stay”.

There was something in the way she firmly held my hand that moved me. She had been bedridden for some time now and didn’t have  much energy throughout the day, so this little act was far more taxing for her than it would be for you or me. She didn’t say anything. She just closed her eyes and enjoyed a few more moments of being together.

My grandmother had a difficult life. She wasn’t born into wealth and she dropped out of school after eighth grade. She went hungry to feed her children. She lost her husband far too early. She lost two children, when they were toddlers. She tragically lost another child, more recently and very suddenly. No parent should ever have to bury a child, much less three.

Some people wear these moments of darkness like a cloak, concealed in the thoughts of the past and what could have been. But Neney lit candles in the dark. From grief, she drew greater love for her family. She expressed her love by turning every interaction, no matter how brief, into an occasion. You couldn’t walk away from her without your belly full and without having engaged in a long conversation, often packed with as many questions as an episode of Larry King Live.

Our family used to joke about the number of questions she would ask. She was highly inquisitive, so she wanted to know everything about you, what you were up to and how you were feeling. She was probably the reason I have the endurance to get through long exams and job interviews. Looking back, I’ve come to understand that this was her subtle way of extending your stay, of absorbing your presence, and of making sure you were happy. Having realised the bitter truth of life’s impermanence, her job was to make sure you felt loved and she was always on the clock.

Whenever we spoke of problems or trouble, she leaned on her philosophy of life, brilliantly summed up in four jovial words --- “What is that so?” Posed as a question, it really made you think about the gravity of your problem and whether you were spending far too much time ruminating over something that just wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. This was her wonderful way of switching on your positive thinking.

Neney loved creativity in all its forms. She was a voracious reader who would mouth the words silently to herself as she read (I didn’t realise I had picked that up from her until I was a teenager). She loved films, music, and social events. She also encouraged us to be creative. She often asked me to give a speech at her birthday, and always demanded a written copy of the speech afterwards. Similarly, after any event, she absolutely needed to get her hands on the photos taken. Her appreciation for creativity made her a collector of family memorabilia and she made sure to revisit them often.

But that was really the extent of her demands. Despite giving so much of her time, attention, and energy, she desired very little in return. That’s because she never wanted to be a burden. You could see it in her face when she wasn’t able to get out of bed more often. She yearned to have more energy, she yearned to be in the centre of the crowd, she yearned to be the caretaker. So even though her body started giving way, she never let her mind go. She still wanted to be present, she still wanted to recognise and converse. To give you something in return for the trouble you had taken to come see her.

She died during the Holy Month of Ramadan on April 25, 2021 at the age of 91. She was very religious, prayed five times a day, and would’ve wanted a traditional Muslim burial. Thanks to several members of the family, we were able to give her that; despite the pandemic. God also blessed her, for one last time, in another special way. She had been waiting a year to see her youngest son.

Neney would’ve been 92 on August 2, 2021. I know she would want us to celebrate her life and not dwell on our loss. And if she were around and saw any of us being sad for too long, I’d expect she’d give us a big hug and say “what is that so?”   (Stefan Jaro)