A friend of mine sent me a picture that reminded me of this post I wrote 4 years ago, 2 years before my grandma passed away. So I thought of republishing it here in her memory, and because I miss her so much.
Written on April 20, 2010
I miss the days,, I miss the memories,,
I remember when we were kids; we used to travel to Bahrain on Eid Holidays to visit my mother’s side of the family. I remember the old neighborhood, the streets the family compound. I remember it all.
Neighborhood: Al Budaiya. Family compound: Habib Hussain Bushehri. The compound consisted of a main house for my grandparents, 3 houses for my uncles, a swimming pool, and a farm. I remember them all with every little detail.
I remember the yard area in the middle of the compound, where all of us, the grandchildren, would gather and play all kind of games. I remember the farm area, us exploring around the plantation and the water stream, feeding the goats, and making fun of the chicken. In fact, if I close my eyes I can remember the smell and the feel of it all.
I remember I used to stay at my grandparents house when I went for visits with my mother & siblings. I remember how grandpa & grandma would compete to be our favorite grandparent. Grandma used to get me the little gold rings and bracelets. Grandpa used to get for us all kind of toys, potato chips, chocolates, and juices. I remember it clearly that it brings tears to my eyes. They competed, but we always loved them both, and secretly used to laugh at their competition.
I remember our special breakfasts. No matter how early we woke up, my grandma was always awake before us, and the house would smell of freshly made tea and milk pots, and breakfast being prepared. The breakfast menu rarely changed, but we always craved for it and found it exciting. Looking back, I still crave for the days my grandma was healthy enough to prepare it for us.
I remember the wait until everyone is awake, the call to gather before serving the breakfast, the dining sheet being laid on the ground, the tray of tea & milk pots along with cups & sugar, and then us sitting around that dining sheet. The food would then be escorted in, dish by dish, smell by smell, and view after view. The delicious freshly made brown chapati (type of bread similar to pancakes only more flavorsome, originated from India), the tastiest plain omelets cooked with butter which you could smell from all over the house, the yummy Bajela (fried broad/horse beans), the juiciest Nekhy (boiled chic peas), and the undeniable craft spread cheese, which was an essential element of any breakfast back then.
I long for that breakfast, for the days when such breakfast brought us all together, when that breakfast was a pure source of joy. I long for that breakfast.
My grandmother passed away on the 26th November, 2011. I found out about it in one of the worst ways; When I woke up in the morning and started checking my blackberry and the BBM’s status updates, I found statues and statues being updated one after the other by my cousins mourning her passing away. I remember I screamed: no, no, no! But of course, that didn’t change the fact that she was gone.
You’re always in our hearts and on our minds, and we miss you every passing day. May God have mercy on the kindest soul that is yours.
In loving memory of Badriya Bushehri, this is my tribute to you.
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