Hey, Hivers! It's me, makiyumee and today I am back here again with another blog. This new blog is about my visit at my grandmother's grave during her death anniversary. Stay with me until the end and let's get into it!
July 30, 2024, it was a sunny Tuesday morning when my family woke up early and did our morning routines before getting ready to leave. The night before, we all talked about our plans for the day since that day was my grandmother's death anniversary. On the day of my grandmother's death anniversary, we prepared some of her favorite foods, drinks and flowers.
My mind were flooded with vivid reflections of my grandma as we traveled to the cemetery; they were all as fresh as if they had happened yesterday. We had those simple yet priceless moments together, and I could almost see her grin and hear her laughing.
The first thing we'd do when she got home from work was reach for the soft drinks. I remembered her as being a little fatigued but always full of kindness. She cherished those times, sitting with me and savoring the bubbly sweetness while we chatted and enjoyed one other's company.
And then there was the Celang's bread, still warm and newly cooked, its reassuring aroma enveloping the space. We would excitedly dive into it, our own custom that gave those afternoons a unique feel. Every bite was more than simply food; it represented our relationship in a straightforward yet highly significant way. I felt those memories envelop me as I walked, bringing back the affection and small pleasures that characterized our time together.
I also remembered how my grandmother took care of me when my parents were out to do their work. I was still a child who didn't go to school that time but my grandmother was the one who watched over me. She would cook me food, watch my favorite television series with me (which were mostly cartoons) and she would also sleep with me every afternoon. It was a precious moment to remember.
Upon reaching the cemetery, my mother stopped and looked around at the flower sellers. She chose to purchase additional red roses, my grandmother's favorite flower, with a gentle grin. With their smooth, beautiful petals, these flowers had always had a particular place in my grandmother's heart. She was active, passionate, and full of life, and red seemed to perfectly represent that character.
Her passion of red was evident in her clothing, which was stocked with blouses, scarves, and dresses that shimmered in crimson and scarlet. She was a woman who delighted in the warmth and intensity of red, surrounding herself with its brightness. I couldn't help but think that these roses were more than simply a memorial; they were a representation of the woman she was, a person whose enthusiasm for life was as vibrant and timeless as the color she loved.
After buying my grandmother's favorite flowers, my mother looked the old woman that she knew way back then and she told me that this old woman was a prayer leader who leads the novena or prayers offered to the dead. When my mother found the old woman that she was looking for, we made our way to my grandmother's grave. We walked through the narrow paths in between the mausoleums. It was a bit hard since I had to guide the old lady and help her through the narrow path, so that she wouldn't have a hard time walking.
When we arrive at my grandmother's mausoleum, my father unlocked the door and we got inside. We cleaned the entire place first while the old lady who was our prayer leader was preparing her things like her candles, rosary and her prayer guide. I walked up to my grandmother's grave and her mother's and brother's resting places and knocked lightly on their stones, greeting them as if they could hear me. It was time to start the prayer after we had cleaned up their graves.
An elderly lady led us, her voice steady and full of reverence, as we all bowed our heads and joined in. The words flowed in a gentle rhythm, and together, we prayed, our voices blending into a quiet, heartfelt chorus that seemed to carry our love and memories to those we had come to honor. There was a reassuring feeling that my grandma and her family were with us and encircling us as we prayed for them inside the mausoleum. It seemed as though time had stopped separating the living from the dead since the air was heavy with love and memories.
With a firm yet gentle voice, the elderly woman guided our words and thoughts as we prayed for the comfort of their souls. We all felt a strong connection as we spoke, whispering our own hopes and dreams for them. The warmth of our joined prayers seemed to fill the mausoleum, which is normally silent and motionless. There was a silence after the prayer, as though our words had been absorbed by the walls themselves. We stayed for a while, allowing the silence to grow, and then we focused on the elderly woman who had guided us. We had a polite and gentle chat with her, exchanging memories of the people we had just prayed for.
With a knowing smile, she listened and responded with some kind words of her own. It was a small, meaningful conversation as we paid tribute to the past and sensed the connection that unites all of us, living and dead. Though the day had begun as a visit to honor the deceased, it ultimately felt more like a reunion—a moment when time stopped and we were all together again.
We learned about her daily life before she decided to become a prayer leader. The old lady also shared to us a little about her life, the challenges that she faced and also how she overcame it. After our little chat, my parents and I along with my little sister, we cleaned around for a few minutes before deciding to head home.
As we head home, I couldn't help but continue to reminisce the times with my grandmother and miss her presence here on Earth. That would be all for my blog today and I hope you had fun reading it. See you on the next one, everybody!
