The entire day had been dull and gloomy. The nauseous smell of stale urine could be felt everywhere. My grandmother by birth has been a patient of dementia and the depressing weather intrigued her to throw yet another tantrum.
All these years, this harrowing remorse of ignoring grandma will gnaw me inside, little by little, disrupting my outer facade like a sea plain stretched in the empty part of this world that does not exist; memories of a troubled past, surfaced on the ebbing waters.
I was awestruck to hear what the doctors had to say about Petite grandma's tantrum these days. "These tantrums should lessen otherwise she will enter a deep sleep that would last forever!"
Time passed by as quick as a heartbeat and at this stage I had no idea what dementia was. So I stealthily crept into my mom's room and read my grandma's analysis report which stated that dementia is a state of mind, marked by memory disorders. The worst memories in your reminiscence!
I rushed down the stairs that instant, skipping a few steps and almost bumped into my mother, asking her what had happened to Petite grandma that caused her to become a victim of dementia. There I came across the most bitterest truth about my late grandfather. He beat Petite grandma once, so severely that she bled profusely; just because he used to come home late and all my grandmother ever did was complain to him in the following words: "Right! That's it! You have been late too often." And before she could say another word, my grandfather beat her with his leather belt and the fact that she was pregnant at that time is why one of my uncle is mentally handicapped.
I was so damn lost in my own world that nothing else seemed so important to me apart from this story from the past that when the most fierce voice came, signalling me that grandma was no more, I couldn't help it but abruptly broke into hysterics.
