Death Dream

I was 17 years old when my grandmother, the person closest to me even more than my own parents, passed away. I still remember the calm and shady expression on his face, even though he looked pale, even looked happy.

My grandmother died not because of a serious illness, and that's exactly what she wanted.

My grandmother once said that when it was time to die later, she wanted to die in a condition that didn't bother all her children. Not because of illness and other things that would burden them.

When I heard what he said, I was very young, so I was still naive to judge the meaning of death. Maybe because in the past death had never touched my closest circle of family.

My grandmother and grandfather looked fine, so I felt they would live a long life. More or less an estimate until I was quite old myself. Like my grandmother's aunt, who may have been how old it was, but did not experience serious health problems like other parents her age.

I thought my grandparents used to be like that, live long and live long.

Until then beyond anyone's expectations, the end of my grandmother's age came.

At that time, when I looked at my grandmother's face that seemed calm between the sobs of my mother and my aunt, I understood a little part of the essence of death. Death comes at a time when we least expect it, at a time we cannot expect and predict.

My aunt was crying hard, feeling that my grandmother was so quick and easy to leave them. My aunt complained and regretted many things. Over time spent busy working and taking care of his small family so that he did not have many opportunities to care for his parents. Grandfather who reminded everyone that there should not be tears that dripped down to the body of the grandmother and weighed her away, as well as the mother who was amazed at my reaction.

I stared at my grandmother's body expressionlessly, still having trouble digesting the reality. Without tears, without complaining. Realizing how much I hoped that my grandmother would still be around when I graduated from college and worked. Comfort me with a small massage on the tiny bed where my childhood slept with him before it was too small to accommodate my long legs. Massaging or applying balm on my back whenever I can't sleep because I am too tired or because I think too much.

On quiet rainy nights due to the scarcity of neighbors, my grandmother told me stories from generation to generation and sometimes her own stories. Sometimes the theme is horror because several times he met scary figures, or about his childhood when he was about to marry young when he was about 10 years old and the marriage was quite excited because during his celebration he cried because he was hungry.

I remember quite a lot of things because they were so closely a part of my childhood.

The aunt who ordered me to be close to the body because she thought I was the grandchild of my grandmother who loved me the most. Remembering that I spent the most of my childhood and elementary school with him. I also always took the time after I was a teenager even after college outside the city to visit my grandparents instead of other grandchildren.

I remember what my mother asked when she saw my expression, "Why don't you cry?"

At that time I didn't answer anything and didn't know what to do. Feeling still busy digesting what is going on.

I think there is nothing I should be sad about when I saw how it looked like my grandmother's body, died in good condition and good intentions too, was about to take ablution for prayer. InsyaAllah my grandmother Husnul Khotimah. I have nothing to grieve other than his absence in the future, and that is certainly a form of my selfishness.

At this age, I think that's probably the best. It is true that people who are old, physically and physically weakened memory will make it difficult to move, while there is no longer much desire and hope for achievement in this life. Moreover, my grandmother died according to the conditions she had been talking about. Died quietly without inconveniencing her children.

At this point I finally understood. Whereas people say that it is best to grow old and have a lot of acts of worship rather than die young, the longer we are allowed to live, the more good things we do, but of course there are many bad things that we live consciously or not. For example, surfing in cyberspace for just a moment leads us to read a confused issue about someone we don't know. It could be just slander although it could also be true.

The longer our lives not only increase our chances of increasing our reward, but also increase the opportunities for us to do things that God does not like. Don't forget that the things that Allah doesn't like or doesn't like are lighter and even more interesting to live with than the other way around.

The older we are, the more we will be able to reflect and begin to realize that. The number of things that one by one I understand makes me feel that I too want the same death that my grandmother used to want.

Yes, in the end we live to die and to prepare for death itself.