She was calling for her father; which made me cry, not because my grandfather had died, but just because of the fact that my mother was crying. I felt so confused about how I felt. Why I was crying for my mother? Why wasn’t I crying for my beloved grandfather? The only time I cried for my grandfather was when I saw my mother mourning over his death and when I see myself cry, I feel as though I’m careless and that I shouldn’t cry. Why am I like this? Is it because I was four when he died and too young to understand?
I have always questioned my feelings towards my family members. I ask things such as, “Will I cry when someone in my family dies? What would I do if it was my parents who had died, or any of my brothers?” “I don’t know”, I’d say, until one day my mother told us something that shattered a part of my life and answered a few of my questions. It was a Wednesday night, my mum was lying down on her bed and my sister and I were beside her when mum suddenly said, “Did you know you had a baby sister?” There was a moment of silence, and then “WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” we both said in unison.
Then mum started saying that when we weren’t born yet she had given birth to a baby sister who was perfectly healthy and prettier than anyone of us and that you could see her veins very clearly, when all of a sudden the nurse came and took the baby away, saying that they needed to check her for a routine test which would take an hour at most. At that moment when the nurse was taking the child, my mum had that funny feeling that something would go wrong and that she wouldn’t see her child again. Moments passed, and she heard nothing and they hadn’t handed the child back. She then put on her gown and set off to see where they had taken her. She didn’t know where to look for her and then she had this feeling and her heart led the way to her daughter in a theatre where…
My mum continued, “I gazed through the window, and saw that there were five or six doctors, and seven nurses in the theatre, and they all looked worried and concerned. Above all I couldn’t see my daughter there and thought to myself she can’t be there, there’s an operation taking place. When the nurse who’d taken my baby was coming out, and I stopped her and asked her, “Where is my child?” the nurse stated that the child was inside the room, and that my daughter was absolutely fine and there was nothing to worry about. However my heart was not accepting the nurse’s statement and when I checked again I saw the doctors were putting wires inside my child and were taking lots of blood from her body and then a nurse came and grabbed hold of me and took me away back to the ward.
At that split second I didn’t know what to do, or who to consult, as my English was very little and no one would understand me. Then I heard a siren coming from outside and rushed to see what it was. I saw an ambulance coming and taking my daughter somewhere and then bringing her back. I rushed to the nearest pay phone and called your father to hurry to the hospital as there was obviously something going on.
When he was coming a nurse came and gave my child to me. I held my child and could feel that she was not breathing. She looked very pale and blood was dripping from her body. I quickly unwrapped her and saw that there were a lot of hole in her body and that my child was dead. I started to cry and everybody came towards me, asking what was wrong, and then they saw my daughter dead in my arms. The instant my father came he saw a big crowd in the ward and went through and saw me carrying my child in blood and in tears, shouting, screaming, “The doctors killed my child!” repeating it several times. I then saw that your father was calling 999 for the police. When the police arrived they started to investigate and asked me questions about the incident with my daughter.
After the investigation the hospital’s staff and organisation apologised to me and said that they would make sure that an incident like this never happened again. They wrote a cheque for my child burial but I didn’t accept the cheque as I didn’t want their unlawful money with blood shed in it.” My mum started crying, and so did my sister and I. Again I was crying because my mum was crying. I was thinking about how she must have felt, seeing her dead daughter’s body in her arms and being carried away to be buried, not even spending a day with her family in this world.
That night I named my baby sister “Runa” to myself. I cried and thought about what it must have been like for my mum to experience such a misfortune, what it would be like to have a big sister. All sorts of things came to my mind. I just couldn’t think about it anymore. Every now and then I still think about her, how old she would have been today, and who she would have looked like, but I don’t get too upset over it as we have another older sister named Reshma to fill Runa’s place.
How is it that I show more grief over my big sister’s death than my grandfather’s, my big sister whom I have never seen? My grandfather was with me for four years of my life but I remember nothing. Why is it that I have more feelings towards my sister? Is it because my grandfather died when I was too young to understand and remember and that I was not born when my sister died and my mother told me the news? Then if that is the case, why is it that when my grandfather died I only showed so little grief on the 5th of September 1993 in Bangladesh? Is it because of I am not aware of the cause of his death? I was only little at the time.
It has already been a few years since his death. I still remember the day I heard the news like it was yesterday…. I came back from school; nobody was home, except for my eldest sister. My sister called me and said that something had happened. “What?” I asked. She replied, “I will tell you if you go to the shop for me”. I said, “Tell me first,” but she said, “No, you’ll only be depressed. Come back and I’ll tell you.” I didn’t know why my sister’s heart was thumping so hard. I started thinking, what could it be? The thought of my grandfather dying had actually crossed my mind, but I didn’t understand why it was actually the first thought that crossed my mind.
Was it because I wanted him to pass away? No not at all. Was it because he was really old and was going to die? Why did the terrible thought come into my mind? Why couldn’t it have been that my brother’s car had been stolen or anything other than that? Anyway, I came back from the shop, and I asked my sister what it was. She said nothing but ten minutes later my mother phoned and told us the news.
I tried to sound devastated, but inside I felt nothing. I felt as though, “Yes, I know the news. Why tell it again?” Is there something wrong with me or is it just normal? But after hanging up the phone, I went into my bedroom and started thinking. The news of my grandfather’s death was supposed to be devastating, but I didn’t feel anything. I started to cry, again because I thought I was supposed to cry, because someone had died. I tried to remember what he used to do, and tried to feel grief, but no I couldn’t. I ended up thinking about my grandmother. What if it was my mum? What if she had died? How would I have reacted? I started crying. Why did I start crying for someone who was still alive and well?
I’d known my grandfather for four years of my life and yet I felt nothing about his death, but at least I have some treasured memories of him unlike my other grandfather. I’m afraid that if my grandmother dies part of my heart will die with her.
I am very close to my grandmother and I love her to shreds. I am afraid that one day I will forget all my memories of everyone who has passed away or will pass away in the future, like I did with my grandfather... Oh why do I have these feelings? Why do I have such depressing thoughts in my mind…? What am I? …Oh ALLAH (GOD) help me…