my granny the ancestor

It's been three years since my maternal grandmother Ida became an ancestor.
I wasn't here when she took her last breath, I went back to London three days before.  Two months before that I was travelling China when I had a series of dreams about her.  In one dream she was taking me around the family yard, telling me about things that needed to cleaned up.  In another dream my sister was showing me where she was buried.  Then I received an email from my mother saying I needed to get home soon, they didn't know how long she would be around.  I left Beijing on a Sunday, spent two days in London and was in Trinidad by the Wednesday. 
It was a worst case jet lag scenario.  But granny was in good form still. I spent two months in Trinidad, watching her slip away.  My mother and sisters, too traumatised by seeing the light going out of her eyes, left it to me.  I slept on the floor of her room, force fed her porridge, toyed with how much morphine to give her. Too little and she could spend the whole night in pain.  Too much and she spent two days tripping.  In her lucid moments she was her usual funny self.  Her favourite pearl of wisdom in those days was 'don't let anybody wash your panty'.  I think she knew she was ready to die when she was no longer able to wash her own.
To her that was the epitome of independence. As a woman, as a human.  To take control of your life.   She knew about that.  Her mother died when she was 14.  She had to forego school to take care of younger siblings. The boys got the education then.  She worked as a domestic to put her children through school. She was fired by her rich employers when my mother won an exhibition scholarship to one of the island's top high schools.  She was unfailingly committed to her children and to us. Perhaps to a fault.  Her joy was us and I always wonder if she had lived in another time, in another reality what wonderful things she would have been able to achieve.
She was out of it the last few days before I left. On the morning I was heading to the airport, I put my head in her lap and cried a long time.  Sensing she wouldn't see me again, she found her voice and put her hands on my head and gave one of her epic prayers.  She never spoke again after that and went in her sleep a couple days later.
So last night, on the anniversary of her passing, we held a traditional Ifa ancestral ceremony. 
Ifa has survived and thrived in spite of all past and continuing efforts to destroy it in the New World. 
In her life, my grandmother was 'poto l'eglise' - a devout Catholic, but never let any of us leave the country, do an exam with out giving us a 'bush bath'.  She used herbs to heal us, recognising plants even after glaucoma undermined her eyesight.
My mother was quite surprised that she didn't request a mass.  But as the Iya explained last night, something happens when they make the crossing.  They reconnect with what was lost.
We sang for her. Cooked her favourite foods.  Cried a bit and missed her dry humour terribly.  And in the end the Iya cast the obi.  The offering is accepted. 
Ase Ase Ase.

Comments

[Elspeth]

Powerful.

[Francine]

This gave me goosebumps.

[Guanaguanare]

---"Her joy was us and I always wonder if she had lived in another time, in another reality what wonderful things she would have been able to achieve."---

Something about your statement above made me pause. On your ancestor's behalf, I feel moved to tell you that she DID achieve many wonderful things. Do not lose sight of the victory and courage in miracles wrought without the world's acclaim. These are your ancestors trophies and among these are the living wonders which she continues to hover over and bless to this day...yourself included.
May the ancestors be pleased.