Get ready for the irony. This post was intended for my 27th birthday reflection, and although I started its outline at that time I definitely am not getting around to writing it until now as I type this, at a time when I have no other choice but to blog (because I left my flashdrive of work at home and I don’t want to leave this amazing coffee shop.) You’ll get it if you read all the way until the end.
In October of last year, one month before her 84th birthday, my grandmother passed away. She passed away on the day of the Indian New Year, a day of celebration and joy meant to be shared with family. It’s a day that emphasizes new beginnings and moving on. I guess in a way it was a new beginning for me. The thing is, that entire day a voice in my head had been telling me to call her, and I kept putting it off for what I thought were good reasons- lunch with a friend, curling my hair, getting dolled up for dinner, sitting by the firepit and watching the children do fireworks. I never did get around to calling her when I found out late that night- by that time I just thought I would call her tomorrow, even though it was morning in India where she was.