Gemotions

Grandma's voice, frail but resolute, echoed through the living room. She was turning to Islam. A wave of something akin to maternal warmth washed over me. I’d always loved her, through all her quirks.

My uncle, her son, began to protest, his voice rising in volume. I intervened, placing a hand on his arm, a signal to be silent, to listen. We sat quietly as Grandma explained her choice, the peace she found in her new faith.

Later, I helped her wrap a scarf around her head, the fabric soft against my fingers. I was thinking of the courage she displayed, the strength it took for her to choose her own way. "You are beautiful," I whispered, the words genuine.