She was the mother of my mother and my mother.
After my grandmother had died, it was very difficult for me to go to her house or walk by it. Our childhood full of bitter-sweet memories house had a smell that I could swear my grandmother had. It is near my university and sometimes I am forced to walk by it. It was never easy to do so. Once I am near the house, I get my hands ready to touch the door, the handle, the walls, everything that brings that shiver to the body. The shiver which straightens the hair, which trembles the body, which clears the way for the tears to flow. Today, I went there -not to celebrate Eid with granny though. The house was different. It was almost dead. I felt the pain it felt. Tears showering from the ceiling, the walls were so black; everything in there resembles one thing: sorrow. The smell was different; as if when she died, that unique smell died with her. When she died, she took the smiles, the memories, the everything that kept the house standing still. I remember when my cousins and I used to play around the house, I remember how she would shout at us for ruining the carpet and dirty it. I remember her shouting at us for messing around with her stuff, I remember how she would call my name: Nour! In a scary way saying in hidden words” what have you done?!” However, I remember the times we would go from school to her place and the first thing we could think of the food she had cooked for us. Fragrant food would be smelled miles away. I still remember her bed time stories, I remember her stories about Jaffa, I remember her stories about my mother when she was around my age, I remember the sweets she would hide for me, I remember the (edeya) she used to give me every Eid, I remember her smile, I remember her tears when she used to be in pain, I remember her cries, I remember her, I remember her clear of crystal, I remember her cold body lying before my eyes, I remember touching her hands, asking her to forgive me for every time I pretended I didn’t hear her calling, simply because I was feeling lazy, I remember every single detail about her face, her eyes, her hands, her everywhere wrinkles, I remember saying goodbye to her, I remember kissing her the farewell kiss. But there was no use for anything for I have not heard her saying goodbye to me in-return. It was hard not having her around, it is hard not being able to say happy Eid for her. But she taught me a lot of things starting: what a perfect granny can be like.