“Gramma, what is that bright orange light outside?”, I asked innocently.
Gramma would know the answer, she knows everything. She glanced out the window and saw the sun setting across the river. The powerful mass was completing its descent for the evening. As bright and magnificent as it was, the sun could now be looked at directly without harm to even the most sensitive eyes.
Gramma smiled to herself, conscious of the naivete of her granddaughter. With care and love, she replied. “Why, Annie, that’s the sun setting.”
Of course, the sun. How could I not know that? I had seen the sun set many times over the six years of my life, how could I forget what this daily event looked like? I was slightly embarrassed by my question – I did not want Gramma to think I was stupid. I wanted to be really smart, just like her.
Before my embarrassment turned into total humiliation, Gramma patted my back and spoke sweetly into my ear.
“Annie, never lose your curiosity or appreciation for daily events, for sunrises and sunsets. Only through curiosity will you learn, and only through appreciation will you find peace.”
With this profound statement, Gramma turned my once-though stupid question into an affirmation. Gramma always had a way of doing that. We sat at the window together quietly watching the sun sink from view. Even after it vanished, we lingered at the window a few moments to take in the effect of its disappearance from the world outside. We felt the coldness and darkness settle in, yet we were not frightened. We knew that the sun would rise tomorrow and once again we would feel its warmth, see its beauty.
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Gramma and I spent many nights like this over the years, never bored with the event nor with each other. I shared my fears and my problems with her in these moments. Somehow my problems seemed less significant compared to the miracle of the sunset. These talks reassured me that life would go on, regardless of any problems I may have had. Deep down, I always knew that the sun would still rise tomorrow.
“Life is what you make of it.” Gramma would say often.
No use dwelling over mistakes made or unresolved problems when there were better things to do – like watching the sunset with Gramma.
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The day came when Gramma saw her last sunset in this world; it was the first time I doubted it would ever rise again. How could it? Yet, despite my disbelief, it rose brighter and more powerful than ever. I shielded my eyes from its piercing light and shrugged off the rays trying to touch me.
The sun had betrayed me.
I was filled with anger and bitterness. Without Gramma to share it with, the sun had lost its beauty and mystery.
Days went by slowly. At dusk, the chairs by the window stood empty. I repressed my desire to peek, just a little, at the sunset. I knew the pain would greatly outweigh the pleasure, if indeed there would be any.
A couple of weeks passed, yet I still treated the sun like a mere acquaintance rather than as the intimate companion it had once been. Traveling on the road one day, twilight neared. I had no place to hide from the inevitable sunset, so I simply turned away and ignored its presence. I became engrossed in a conversation with another passenger as the sun set behind me.
At a slow point in the dialogue, I turned my head, forgetting the promise I had made to myself not to look. In the distance, a very large and powerful sight startled me. I exclaimed, almost as innocently as I had more than fifteen years ago, “What is that bright orange light outside?”
As soon as the words escaped from my lips, a memory of Gramma and me unfolded inside my head.
The sun.
The evenings spent at the window.
The love shared between us.
How could I deny myself that?
I realized then that the sun was not to blame for the loss of my beloved Gramma. Her death was quite like the sun setting in the distance. Just like the sun that disappears into the darkness of the future, Gramma was merely gone from my sight. And just like at the end of the sunset, when we could still feel the sun’s warmth and strength we could no longer see, so it was with Gramma.
I stared longingly at the tip of the sun still visible. I realized that though Gramma herself could not rise again tomorrow, the sun would, and Gramma’s spirit was embodied within the sun. I was finally at peace, knowing that Gramma would once again be with me. And tomorrow, when I felt the warmth of the sun’s rays upon my face, I would be feeling Gramma’s love once again.
She, nor her love, had never really left me.
She had been there all along, watching me from above.
Gramma was one with the sun, and I would never have to go another day without feeling the warmth and strength of my Grandmother’s love.