My Grandma: A Lifelong Learner, Lover, & Teacher
October 12, 2022
Writer: Deepa Ramesh
Editor: Chava Makman
As a young girl, my grandparents’ home in Mysore, India was my happy place. I vividly remember lounging on the lawn that bordered their tiny garden, admiring the crimson-red roses in full bloom and the fragrance of sweet-smelling jasmine flowers. My grandmother would watch me roll around in the grass from her window, shaking her head and smiling. Her smile was gorgeous, rising all the way up to her dimples, and when she was truly happy, you could hear it in her voice too.
My grandmother is many things: a college graduate, a talented cook, a tennis fanatic, but above all else, she is a lover of life.
Her memorizing of little details about me, like my favorite meal or the name of the doll I carried everywhere, was one quality of hers in particular that demonstrated to me her unwavering capacity for love.
But as the years passed, her jet-black hair, embedded with pins containing the most exquisite gemstones, turned into a bed of white. Her confident, composed steps turned into wobbly strides. I watched the woman whose memory held no boundaries gradually begin to forget the things around her. At first, it was misplacing the tablets she took in the morning. But it soon became a struggle to find the proper words in a conversation or navigate through the rooms in her home.
My grandmother was diagnosed with dementia shortly after receiving her Green Card — and to say I was shocked would be an understatement. Yes, I’ve always known that age is a vicious parasite, a silent killer that not even the brightest of us can escape from. Still, I was heartbroken, crestfallen, and utterly lost.
But when I reunited with her and looked into her eyes — I didn’t see apprehension, I didn’t see anxiety; her pupils dilated until her eyes began to twinkle far more brilliantly than any star in the night sky. She pulled me into an embrace so tight that I almost had to gasp for air — and that’s when I knew she would be alright.
On the first day she arrived, I saw her rummage through my bookshelves, from the stories of Nancy Drew I read in my girlhood to (yes) even my AP Biology Textbook, devouring every single detail with earnest enthusiasm.
In fact, my grandmother has done nothing other than willingly place herself outside her comfort zone. She won’t hesitate to start a conversation with anyone, even if she believes that her English skills are subpar. She spends hours watching the news on television to learn more about life in America. She has even gotten over her long-standing phobia of dogs simply because our golden retriever, Max, adores her and wants to be by her side.
My grandmother could have easily wallowed in despair and agonized over why the world had dealt her a bad hand at this stage of life. Still, she remains steadfast in her resolve to approach every single situation with nothing less than cheerful optimism. And I’ve realized that the woman who comforted me after I scraped my knee, the woman who took the time to listen to others as though they were the most important people in the world, was still here. Memory loss will never steal her endless bounds of curiosity and thirst to live life to the fullest.
I only had the chance to spend 2 weeks with her before I returned to Ann Arbor, and yet, I don’t even know if there are words to encapsulate how profoundly she has impacted my outlook.
As college students, our lives are dictated by schedules and checklists. That carefree child who rolled around in the grass is no more. Instead, she has been replaced by a young, brooding adult who doesn’t have the same disposition to dream. How can we maintain a passion for learning when everything seems so stifling?
My grandmother has taught me what it truly means to be a lifelong learner. It’s not only about drawing the reaction mechanisms of organic chemistry. It is about being curious about life’s littlest details, remaining bold in the face of adversity, and smiling even when the world says you shouldn’t.
Life is like a series of winding cogs—you’ll never be able to know what direction they will turn. So, whenever a lightbulb goes off in your head, I encourage you to pursue it, to not get swallowed by your insecurities and let the spark be dimmed. After all, there’s a vast, enigmatic world waiting for eager explorers.
