Today Dad got stung by some bees(or hornettes ,who can tell the difference…actually I can, but let’s not get carried away). I got so worried as it reminded me of my grandmum.
The story goes,
My grandmum passed away when I was 15, in my home. She first collapsed in Penang where her home was and was taken by the ambulance here for treatment. She went into a coma before finally breathing her last.
Few months before her death, she came to stay with us here in Subang Jaya. I loved her dearly, but I was another idiotic teenager at that time and did not appreciate her presence as much as I should. 5 years after her death, I still get infuriated thinking about it.
Skipping other details of the story, one day, my grandmum went for her daily walk around the neighborhood when she stumbled upon a beehive. A man tried to warn her to avoid the hive, but unfortunately, she didn’t understand. So, a swarm of bees attacked her ruthlessly. No one was there to help her. She had no way to reach us. So she had to walk a kilometer back home, in agony, with probably a 100 stings all over her body. We immediately went to the doctor to get her treated.
Things were fine after that. She looked healthy; she was as loving as any grandmum could be. She was in constant need of love and attention which most of us were extremely ignorant about. The sole reason why I can recall this so clearly is because; I was at the phase where Grandmums were uncool, unimportant and sometimes an embarrassment. I didn’t spend that much of my time with her, and even when I did, it barely felt sincere. Acknowledging the fact that I was one of her favorite granddaughters, stupidity and shallowness still triumphed everything else that mattered.
So a few months after, her (our)Creator took her soul back, and even though I believe this was fate, that birth and death is “maktub” yakni written, I still couldn’t forgive myself for those times of neglect. I could have been there when she got stung.
Sometimes, I believe that the stings from the bees had really been the cause of death. Sometimes I believe my lack of prayers had given her less reason to live.
Of course, all those times in doubt, I revert back to God, as I believe He knows best.
Even so, I don’t think it’s completely wrong to blame myself, because, I learn from all the guilt. I do not use it as a tool to make me feel better, but more of a strategy to improve. The occasional breakdowns from thinking about her are inevitable. Whatever it is, at least I have my prayers to offer.
