Grandparents

Image by Bishnu Sarangi from Pixabay

I am not one of those fortunate people who grew up with her grandparents around. I was born in the US. We moved back to Saudi Arabia before the 5th grade. By then, my paternal grandmother and my maternal grandfather had passed away. (May God have mercy on their souls) Sadly, I don’t remember them at all.

 When we moved back home, I would cherish my time in Taif where my maternal grandmother and paternal grandfather, but naturally as a kid, I spent most of time playing with my cousins and siblings.

 There will always be special memories of my summers in Taif: Breakfast on the front porch with my grandmother, always tea and usually zaa’tar and olive oil with pita bread. The weather in Taif is cooler since its high up on a mountain. My grandmother always has jasmine plants growing on her porch and you can usually smell it when there is a breeze.

Memories of my grandfather coming back from the fresh produce market with boxes of fresh fruit and vegetables. He is actually the one who taught me how good fresh figs are. I still remember how he peeled a fig for me and fed me himself. How delightfully surprised I was. They were nothing like the dried figs I knew. They are still one of my favorite fruits.

I remember how my grandfather’s house was always full in the summer or during religious holidays. Aunts, uncles, cousins, even distant relatives. Sometimes every room had mattresses and blankets and pillows all over the floor to accommodate everyone. Waking up to find the adults in the kitchen preparing huge pots of breakfast. Always lots of chatting and laughter.

I remember sleeping at my grandmother’s house, if it was only us, she’d let me sleep next to her. The best spot in the house. Or on the spare bed in the corner.  I also have memories of the living room filled with blankets and pillows and lots of cousins.

Somehow, the house work at my grandmother’s house was fun. We’d volunteer to do dishes, clean bathrooms or vacuum. Washing the tile floors outside was the most fun chore. Everything there was special. The afternoons when everyone would get together, each with a dish and we’d sit outside and listen to the adults talk or play cards on the porch. Simple pleasures.

I’ve been married for 16 years. Since I got married I stopped going to Taif on holidays. I didn’t see my grandparents and relatives often. I’m not very good at phone calls. I know I was busy with young children, but still I could have managed to call more often. When my grandfather passed away, my biggest regret was not calling him more often. So, I started calling my grandmother every day. Yes, every day. It was the best part of my day. I would talk about anything or just ask for a recipe. At first, she was surprised, then she started looking forward to my calls. When the phone rang in the evening she would say: that’s Nuha! Then, I started calling less frequently. Every Friday morning. I call her every week no matter what. Even if I’m out of town, even if I’m sick. I’ll call her, but I never tell her I’m sick. She’s a mom, she will worry. Its unnecessary to make her, worry.

It’s been almost 9 years since my grandfather passed away. As much as I miss him, I look at it as 9 years of connecting with my grandmother. I’m so grateful for every phone call, every conversation. Even when she was busy and would cut the phone call short in her sweet way: “Thank you my dear, (she literally says “my eye” which means my dear or the apple of my eye) thank you my dear, Alhamdulillah that you are well and we are well. Good bye.”

Even though my parents live in another city. My kids are still pretty close with them. Especially my mom. They will take my phone when I’m talking to her so they can talk to her by themselves. They even FaceTime her on their own. We are lucky technology has made it so much easier for us to connect.

I live with my mother in law. I think that is the best gift we were able to give our kids. Living with their grandmother. Making so may memories. She waits by the door in the mornings before they go to school to hand them a banana or a date cookie (mamoul) to eat on the way. She always has lunch at 1 pm but when my boys started coming home later, she delayed her lunch. It’s important to her (and to us) that we have lunch together. My 11 year old is a bit of a picky eater. When she makes something he doesn’t like, she makes sure there is something he likes to eat. She is always on my kids’ side, but she isn’t the type of grandmother who spoils kids in a bad way. She’s the best and we are so lucky to live with her.