I have been feeling nostalgic, so I want to share a letter that I am writing to my great-grandmother, my dad’s maternal grandmother. She passed away in 2004, when I was in my senior year of high school.

Dearest Mataji,

Meri pyaari Mataji, tusi kaisi ho? I miss you dearly. I cannot believe it has been almost 22 years since I last saw your beautiful smile. I hope that you are enjoying time with the children who have joined you in heaven.

Mataji, I think about you often. I reminisce about the days you would sit with me, teaching me not only how to interpret the lines of Guru Granth Sahib Ji, but also recounting stories from your life. You had to endure unimaginable trials at such a young age. Not only did you lose family members during the Partition between India and Pakistan as you migrated, but later you also lost your husband while still a young mother raising your children. Later, you witnessed the loss of your eldest child, yet you continued to live with such grace. Here I am venting on a blog that I can’t drink hot coffee, when you lived a life shaped by loss, sacrifice, and resilience.

I lost my innocence when you parted from this world, a loss of my sense of security in life itself. I had never been to a funeral before then, had never truly known loss. You raised me for 17 years of my life. You left this world in the same hospital where we were born. To this day, when I park in that hospital’s lot and walk its hallways, I think of your final days, of your strong eyes, never wanting to worry your children or grandchildren. You kept a sense of dignity until the end, with grace in your words. You left this earth surrounded by all of your family, as your last breath sighed in relief and your soul returned home to God.

You were the eternal mother, effortlessly raising your seven children, 14 grandchildren, and 20 great-grandchildren at the time of your passing, and how proud you would be to see the total of 26 now! How privileged were we to have been raised by our great-grandmother! I still remember that one of my cousins was expecting her child—your future great-great-grandchild—when you left this world. The sorrow in her eyes, knowing she could not attend your funeral because she was pregnant and it went against our religion’s principles, still stays with me. We all lost a piece of ourselves that day.

You were a gentle soul, with a beautiful smile and the sweetest sense of humor. I will never forget your loud snoring—how such powerful sounds could come from such a tiny woman! The golden lion atop your cane. Your chunni draped over your head at all times, your glasses secured by a chain so they would never fall. Your silver hair, so fine and delicate that I worried every time if I would hurt you when I used your wooden kangi, though you always insisted on a tight braid.

It is remarkable how you were such a defining part of the first half of my life, raising me, shaping my thinking, and crafting my values, and yet the love of my life and my children will never have the honor of meeting you. Life moves forward without the sharing of such sacred parts of ourselves. You would have loved the man I married. At first, I worried that Grandma might not approve, especially considering his religion, but the moment he touched her feet and made her laugh, she was completely won over. I find so much comfort knowing you are in heaven with family, while we remain blessed with the joint family love you helped create here. We were so lucky to grow up not only with our cousins, but our second cousins too, raised collectively by all your children. Now my kids proudly tell everyone they have 20 brothers and 15 sisters, who are all their third cousins, but no one thinks of family as extended anymore. We recently had dinner to celebrate the birthday of your son, and tears rolled down my cheeks that night, in joy thinking of how truly blessed I am to have such a close, strong family bond, and in gratitude to have been raised by so many grandparents, aunts/uncles who are like my parents, and cousins who are like my siblings. I have the memories of coke-milk, meeta pooras, laughter, and warmth. All because of you, Mataji.

Mataji, your life continues to live through us, in the way we gather, in the way we love, and in the way we endure. The strength you carried did not end with you; it was passed down, woven into our family like a sacred thread. I see you in my children’s laughter, in the closeness of our family, and in the values I strive to live by every day. I aim to be back to myself, the Jasmine you raised. I am sorry to have deviated for the past few years, but I am working towards becoming more like myself in the first half of my life. Though time has carried us forward, you will always remain my constant, my quiet moral compass, my eternal home. Until we meet again, know that you are remembered, honored, and deeply loved.

With love,

Teri Pyaari Jasmine