A few weeks later, we had to return. Within that interval,
my grandfather
had fallen ill, though insisted we carry on our return to Turkiye (as my parents, sister and I would return to the US from there), and that he’d be fine. It was the
last time we saw him. As we walked out of the hospital room, praying to God
that it wouldn’t be the last, my five year old self backed up in the
hallway, peering through the door, giving my last wave upon which he returned
a loving smile. A month later we discovered that one afternoon, right
after leading Friday prayer, he had passed, surely, with one last sip of his
country’s water..
Though the sadness always remained, along with the hat in
my hand.
The white designs on them are the same patterns found on a
cobalt colored
teapot and its matching bowl cups—representing cotton, Central Asia’s white
gold for the economic value it holds.
If there was another question on the form, right
underneath, “Any
Other You’d like to Provide..” that would be where I’d answer why that last bit
of info is relevant, along with another story that explains the exact purpose
of why I’m here..
Along with my grandfather knowing he wouldn’t pass away
without the last sip
of water from his homeland, he also had an inkling for where he’d be buried,
which ties to my purpose here–in the basement.