This week was my grandmothers’ bi-annual doctors check up and I got to see my gran’s heartbeat live through an ultrasound.

Entering the beginning stages of my work process I’ve been spending more time with my grandmother learning about the family and particularly about the deceased. We’re sitting in the cardiologist office in Athlone with the peaks of two beautiful mosques peaking in the window. I am reminded of the fact that the month of Ramadan has passed and the Muslim community just celebrated Eid.

There seemed to be a little bit of leaking shown by the fluorescent blue and red smudges against the graphic black and grey ultrasound. The doctor assures me that this is normal, just a bit of wear and tear; almost like an old leaking tap, he tries to describe. Attempting to reassure me as I suddenly become overprotective, asking all sorts of questions when in fact know nothing about my gran’s health – let alone her heart.

I am sitting in my grandma’s home, slightly cold and drinking tea from a mug that says, granddad. My ma is watching TV about 10 decibels too loud for any normal type of late night TV viewing as it blasts gospel music. She’s currently knitting a jersey for my youngest cousin who turns 2 in August (I will insist on him calling me aunty when he grows up) and is yearning to visit him in Durban next week for her 81st birthday. I fondly remember a sweater she knitted me. Christmas themed, half leafy green and the other half candy apple red. It had tassels and large sleeves. I vaguely commit to buying knitting needles and wool and ask my gran to teach me but I think I’m just trying to be the favourite grandchild again.

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