How to Grandson

As I woke up early one morning this past week to journal, she naturally came to mind. I began to reflect about memories, the ones that are etched in the deepest corners of my heart. 

Earlier this week it was my grandmother’s birthday.

She passed away when I was fifteen, I still remember the moment we got the call. It was a moment that marked a profound shift in my life, a moment that still echoes in the silence of my thoughts.

Without my grandmother, I would not exist.

She had ten children, nine sons and one daughter. Her last child was my father. If she had thrown in the towel or decided she was done, I would not exist. I can’t help but feel immense gratitude for her. It's a gratitude that transcends words, a gratitude that is as vast as the universe itself. My universe.

Her values and beliefs have been ingrained in me and all of those around me growing up. We can’t have an extended family gathering without her coming up, as a memory or as part of a joke. She is spoken of as a long lost friend who is dearly missed. She is a presence that lingers, a presence that is felt in the laughter, the tears and the stories that we share.

I have this distinct memory of when my grandmother came to visit Canada from India when I was a child. Despite her and I not being able to communicate in the same language, she did not know English, I did not know Hindi at the time. There was a language of love that connected and bonded us. It was a language that transcended words, a language that was felt in the warmth of her hugs, the sparkle in her eyes, the rhythm of her heartbeat.

As she had many children and grandchildren spread across a few cities in Canada, she would do a tour, like the rockstar that she was. Feeling attached to her, she left my hometown of Ottawa for Montreal one morning and I threw a tantrum. I convinced my parents to let me take a bus, alone at the age of ten, to go visit her. It was a journey that was fueled by love, not fear, a journey that was a testament to the bond that we shared.

Over the past few years, as I've been exploring my own spirituality, I've found myself more often in the company of friends who are on their own spiritual journey as well. We share our experiences, insights, and struggles.

One aspect of this journey that seems to be appearing more frequently is a focus on acknowledging and healing generational traumas. It's a concept that, I must admit, I've found uncomfortable in conversation whenever it comes up. It's not that I deny the existence of such traumas, but rather, it has felt like a lack of grounding in the reality that without previous generations, this one would simply not exist.

Ancestral worship is something that has been a part of most ancient cultures. Through ceremony, song, stories and more, ancestors have been rightfully put on a pedestal and seen as god-like. That is how I saw my grandmother growing up, and still do. She was, and remains, a figure of strength, wisdom, and love in my life.

In a modern era, it is rare to talk about ancestors and the influence they have had. And to focus on the positive, versus the negative. It's as if ancestors have been forgotten, with all their flaws and virtues.

I remember growing up there were photos of all of my grandparents on the walls of my house. Their faces, frozen in time, were a constant reminder of where I came from, of the lineage that I was a part of. I don’t have any photos of my grandparents in my home currently. Maybe it’s time to change that.

Being a grandson is not just about remembering my grandmother, it's about embodying her spirit, her resilience, her love. It's about understanding that even though she is no longer physically present, she lives on in me, in my thoughts, in my actions, in my dreams and now, in my words.

Being a grandson is not just about carrying a family name or inheriting physical traits. It's about understanding the legacy that has been passed down to me, the values and traditions, the stories and the wisdom. It's about honoring that legacy, adding to it, and passing it on to the next generation.

Being a grandson is not just about sharing a bloodline, it's about sharing a legacy. It's about carrying forward the values, the beliefs, the stories that have been passed down. It's about honoring the sacrifices, the struggles, the triumphs of those who came before me. It's about understanding that I am a part of something bigger, something that transcends time and space.

Being a grandson is not just about carrying forward a legacy, it's about creating one. It's about living a life that is true to who I am, a life that is guided by love, compassion, and kindness. It's about understanding that the greatest tribute that I can pay to my grandmother is to live a life that is worthy of the love and sacrifices that she made for me.

I find myself wanting to understand my grandparents better, to appreciate their struggles and their triumphs, to honor their memory.

In doing so, I think I can also better understand myself. Perhaps that's what being a grandson is all about.

And that is how I learned to grandson.