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There's no manual for grief.
No “checklist”. No timeline.
People will tell you, “Time heals” - but no one says how long it takes.
Some days you laugh. Some days, you forget.
And some days- it hits you, and it feels like Day One all over again.
So, how do you cope?
You don't. Not like you think. But you learn to carry it along the way.
This is my story- of how I lost my beloved grandmother. My Mak.
It was 2AM.
I was lying on the sofa, close to her.
My mother was working on her laptop nearby.
Then came a sound.
It wasn't loud. Just one breath- and then, silence.
I didn't realise it then,
But that breath… was her last…
It was my mother who noticed.
She went closer, touched her, and suddenly, I heard a scream I'll never forget: “Mak…” and came the tears.
I checked her pulse, and indeed she was gone.
People always talk about death in abstract.
It's a chapter, a transition, a “she's in a better place now.”
But in real life, it's confusing.
There's no flashing sign that says “this is it.”
There's just a quiet breath, and then…stillness.
A stillness that fills the room like a fog you can't escape.
I didn't cry right away.
I sat there, numb, trying to process what just happened.
Trying to call everyone; my aunties and uncles.
Eventually, I dozed off while waiting for the ambulance.
And this, is something I didn't tell a soul; she came into my dream. Wearing a white dress.
She didn't say anything, just looked at me. It felt so real, I thought she was still alive.
I jolted awake and rushed to her.
But seeing her body - stiff, unmoving - I knew it was real.
She was really gone.
The medic came at 3AM and officially pronounced her dead.
Her hands - once warm - were no longer.
Everyone cried.
I didn't.
Not because I was strong.
But because I was confused.
It didn't felt real.
How could my Mak - the woman who raised me - just be…gone?
People said I was strong for not crying. That I was tough.
But I wasn't. I'm still not. I was just trying to process it.
I wasn't prepared for the silence, the funeral, the empty chair at the dining table, and the empty sofa.
She was the one who taught me patience, and being independent.
She loved me without needing to say it- and I knew it. Every single day.
She was my backbone. My biggest supporter.
Even when I asked for her help, she'd always do it.
But not without her usual line: "Bayangkan kau tinggal seorang sahaja dalam dunia ni. Macam mana kau nak buat?”
I used to feel suffocated when she'd call me every day, just to ask: “Dah makan ke belum?”, or “Bila nak balik?”
But now, all I want is to hear her voice one more time.
Some days, I feel fine.
Some days, I see old women and I break down just because I missed her.
And that's how grief is- not loud, not dramatic. Just…heavy. And silent.
But I carry her with me.
I am lucky to have my husband.
I got married after my Mak passed. Maybe she knew she was leaving me in good hands.
It's been two years since she left, but the longing is still here.
I miss her smell, her presence, her smile, and everything about her.
And whenever I miss her, my husband is my shoulder to cry on.
Sometimes, when I crave her crab curry, I ask my father-in-law to cook it.
It tastes almost the same - once, I nearly cried because of the familiar taste.
And when I miss her sambal ikan bilis, or rendang, I'll ask my aunts to cook them for me.
Each bite feels like a small reunion with Mak,
I'm lucky to be surrounded by love and support.
All in all- there's no “getting over” grief.
Unless maybe… you have amnesia.
You just get used to it- like walking with a limp after an injury that never healed perfectly.
But you do walk.
Slowly at first.
Then more steadily.
And one day, maybe…you'll run again.
With their memory beside you- not behind you.
I no longer cry every day. Only when I miss her.
But when I do, I try to do something good.
A small deed. A prayer.
To everyone who has lost someone: please know that it's okay to cry.
There is no proper way to grieve.
Do it your way. At your own pace.
Because it's your own heart, trying to heal.
And remember this: Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear.
Maybe that's why I was there that night.
Maybe Allah let me witness her final breath, not as a punishment, but as a reminder that her rezeki had run its full course.
Her time here was complete. Her job was finished.
And she returned- just as we all will, one day.
Nur Hazirah is a content creator under the Newswav Creator programme, where you get to express yourself, be a citizen journalist, and at the same time monetize your content & reach millions of users on Newswav. Log in to creator.newswav.com and become a Newswav Creator now!
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