Safta

I’m cranky today.
I’ve been cranky for a week now. I guess I have been looking forward to so many things that aren’t happening. I needed a change of pace. I need some kind of change.
Of course I should be excited because I am finally going through with my ivf cycle. Which means within 2 months I should know whether or not I will be a mom by next year. But what if it doesn’t take? What if it doesn’t happen? Then I will have had a really bad year.
Of course, I cant complain. I’m still young, and I have my health (Somewhat).
My grandmother is dying.
She has cancer and is slowly vanishing. My safta. The woman I adore. She makes up these fake songs. As a child, when she would try to get me to sleep- she would sing a song she made up on the spot. She did that until a year ago. Until this whole thing happened that came and took that grandmother away. Now all that’s left is a grandmother who is in pain. A shell of a person. A woman that hasn’t been told outright that she only has X amount of time left, but obviously senses it.
My grandparents have been together since they were 18 years old. That’s about 54 years now. My grandfather ADORES her. Up until the sickness, she would dance around for him, lifting up her skirt in a seduction dance as my grandfather would stare at her adoringly. And I always managed to be in awe of their love.
My grandfather may not have been college educated, but how could he have been? He came to Israel as a teen from Yemen on the “magic carpet” ( what they called the return of the Yemenite Jews into the holy land in the 40’s). Although he did not attend conventional school, he is one of the smartest men you could meet. His hobby is doing crossword puzzles that he hides under his couch in the porch. He knows the tallest mountain, all about the flat lands, can recall all the major cities…. and my grandmother is illiterate. They sit and watch television together and because most of the programs are not in their native tongue, my grandfather reads the subtitles and translates for her, while my grandmother makes up her own story for whats unfolding in front of her on “The Young and the Restless”. I always wondered how that dynamic worked. I couldn’t marry someone who was not as intelligent as I am. But it works for them.
He is dependent on her. If she goes.. he will join her shortly thereafter. I guarantee it. My family would always say, if one of them had to go first, it should be him, because he wouldn’t be able to deal with the loss. And now its the opposite. She’ll go first.
I’ve never really had someone so close to me be terminally ill. And every time I think about it.. I cry. As I’m doing right now, in my cubicle.
I wish I had some time to do nothing but spend time with her. To sit and listen to her stories ( which are many). To appreciate this woman and take her in. So that maybe one day, I could attempt to be like her.
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One thought on “Safta

  1. Pingback: Family « Gemini Girl

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