Inna lillah wa inna ilayhi rajioon. My Grandmother died today. "Dadiji". "Nano". "Nazir Begum". She had been feeling weak and went to the hospital to be kept under observation. The doctors decided a temporary pacemaker was in order. Then they decided that a permanent pacemaker was necessary. Somewhere between the two, there may have been complications with the anesthesia and she never came out of it.

She of the pink, rose, and cream-colored flowered outfits. She of the cheek-burn hugs and hand-knit accessories. She of the basketball tummy from decades of cooking and tasting and cooking and tasting and tasting and tasting and "oh, just a little taste." She of the contradictions: she was a typical granny with her sewing and crafts and curly white hair and shining eyes and grandchildren and great-grandchildren buzzing around her constantly; but she could also curse in Mandarin (she was born in Hong Kong) and knew her way around a good fart joke and could be as politically incorrect as the next person. She was obsessed with the Food Network. She was deeply religious and loved her gigantic family with all of her heart. She helped my father with his education. She went on a safari with us in South Africa. She wrote poems with pen and paper, with thread and yarn, with her heart and soul. She loved planning menus. She was the wife of a military man and ran a tight ship. She was the grandmother of over 30 children and told them jokes and knitted them hats. She was the benefactor to the needy in Pakistan and donated her time and energy and clothes and money when she could. She came to my wedding and I'm so thankful that the last time I saw her, she was beaming with joy and bursting with love. She was not just my pocket-granny; when she met anyone in her many travels around the world, she became everyone's pocket-granny. She loved and was loved in return.



Please pray for her. May Allah (swt) bless her soul, show her mercy and love, and reward her for her good deeds. Ameen.