My big fat Bengali family is partying hard somewhere…

Elizabeth Kubler Roth On Death and Dying has written, “The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.”

I will take time off from my usual grief journal and write about a scenario which could be happening behind the veil, who knows? My aunt died yesterday in her sleep. My father died a few hours ago. The death march in my family continues. Anyway, I think all my family members over the years who have said sayonara are having a raucous get together somewhere without us who are still limited in our physical being. Although I was an only child, I grew up in a loud, boisterous family with grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins. And when we got together the decibel level generally reached an unacceptable level for neighbors. In a middle class Bengali family, there was always a lot of food, sweets, snacks along with more than a generous amount of teasing, shouting, loud conversations about who can eat how much and laughter. My aunts did the cooking, my mother held court in a semi languishing posture because she was self proclaimed lazy. She provided the entertainment.

I think all my departed family is together now, partying hard…..somewhere.. There is the same raucousness, same loud teasing, same laughter. Food? I don’t know.

Sahana was waiting for her final grade in college. She was on tenterhooks because this grade was going to determine if she would graduate with magna cum laude. Well, she did. Because of the tragedy in our family, her achievements have not been celebrated like they should have been but she knows we are immensely proud of her. When she found out she will graduate with a magna cum laude, she said, “Oh mom! Can you imagine how much bragging didiya is doing up there to her family? Oh she will be obnoxious about it. She was always so proud of my academic achievements and talked about it to anyone who would listen.” When she said this, dadai was still breathing. But I am sure baba will look on with his usual beaming face as ma tells everyone how brilliant Sahana is.

It was a happy vision – ma with her youthful energy which she had lost towards the end, talking to her siblings, aunt and parents about her grand daughter’s achievements as her siblings try to pretend that they are as interested in it as she is. 🙂

I wrote this before baba joined them. Now everyone is welcoming him into the party.

“Arre Gautam, esho esho.”

Baba

Baba liked to get things done. He was an organizer. He liked to take care of banking, paying bills, buying the freshest fish, the best vegetable. Once he organized everything and made sure all under his care were comfortable, he looked around with a beaming, satisfied smile. He was a fixer of things. If something needed to get fixed, he would get it fixed. And he loved animals. He loved them with all his heart. He made sure the stray dogs in his neighborhood had food and vet care when they needed it. Going out with him was a challenge as he was the pied piper of Kolkata. His brood of four legged friends surrounded us trying to give hugs and kisses, while demanding biscuits of course. Baba would always go to the local pan shop, buy packets of biscuits, distribute them evenly before going on his way. The same protocol was followed when he came back home.

Baba died a few hours ago. He put up a valiant fight against Covid 19, but Covid won. After ma’s death 9 days ago, I dreaded breaking the news to baba. His own health was so fragile that I decided not to give him the news. I hoped he would recover from this disease and I will break the news gently when he could handle it.

Well I don’t have to any more. He went away to join her and continue the constant bickering that was left incomplete in this life. I heard that the day they were going to the hospital, ma was scared. He was sick himself, but he sat by her and stroked her arms saying not to be afraid, he will be there with her.

I wonder if she was afraid on her own, and he knew she needed him to be with her. I want to believe they are together, fighting, bickering but still comfortable in each other’s company.

And just like that, within a span of 9 days, I am an orphan who could not be there to hold their hands for the last time.

Guilt

The seven stages of grief elude me. Is guilt one of them? If it is then I have arrived there. I am at the phase where I am questioning myself if I could have saved ma if I had made different decisions? Am I even that powerful or that thought is pure hubris? A couple of friends had given different suggestions of hospitals, I chose one and both my parents were admitted there. There was and continues to be a huge shortage of hospital beds along with ICUs, so I opted for one where 2 beds were available and ICU option. The hospital was horrible and today the government closed it down as they were fleecing people without providing service.

Did ma die due to their negligence? Is that kind of thought useful? I don’t know. I keep telling myself I made a decision and I paid a steep price for it. It is on me. Ma always said “Do your best because that is the best you can do.” That was her mantra. That mantra is ingrained in my brain and I tell my children the exact same thing. Ma knows I did my best with the information and ability I had at the time, being thousands of miles away. And if she died because of my decision of choosing that hospital, I hope she knows how helpless I was and sees my love and desperation to save her and baba.

The ‘goods’ in the week of May 10th

It seems somewhat morbid to write about the ‘goods’ in the week that one’s mom has died but I like this exercise and I will try to think about the ‘goods’ despite my loss.

Ryan got his 2nd dose of vaccine.

My friends and cousins in India along with Tribeca Elderly Care service are extending their constant support to help my father get better.

There was a lot of anxiety about bringing him home and I worried if he will survive, but coming home gave him peace. I am preparing myself for any outcome.

My friends, coworkers, Sean’s coworkers have poured their love and solidarity via food, cards, plants.

Plants and gardening are still giving me immense comfort so I continue to obsessively tend to my little flower bed.

Sahana did go up to Boston to celebrate her Senior week. The kid missed out on so much this year, her last year in college.

The weather has been wonderful so I could sit by the flowers and meditate. That has given me peace.

My coworkers have taken up my classes and urged me to simply focus on myself and my family. I am forever grateful.

Two of my dearest friends came to visit. Their visit brought me much joy. They allowed me to cry and I did.

A friend organized a small offering of peace at our local Kali temple. I am an agnostic but as ma got older she fell in love with Goddess Kali. I decided to offer a puja for her. We have not done it yet, but my friend took that organization off my hands. For that I am grateful.

Sean has been by my side brain storming questions to ask, driving Ryan wherever he needs to be and lending his constant support.

Ryan just compiles animal videos on Tik Tok for me to look at.

I needed oxygen for my dad desperately and appealed for it on social media. Some friends and a cousin who I call angels, arranged for it to see him through a few days if he survives.

A friend shared a beautiful thought – we are all in pain, whether we want to suffer is in our hands. And that is where acceptance comes in. I am not there yet, but my goal is to get there.

I often feel alone in my grief but I know I am surrounded by love.

Be strong

Amidst the beautiful condolence messages on ma’s death, the recurring one is a wish for me to ‘be strong’.

As I see more and more of ‘be strong’ I wonder if I am being strong? I seem to make phone calls to arrange for care for my dad who is not doing well. I am exchanging wsapp messages, text messages, Facebook messages with friends in Kolkata and here to make decisions regarding baba’s care, trying to figure out how to procure ma’s death certificate (seems strange to write that), communicating with Gouri who lives in our house in Kolkata and is crying her heart out, informing friends and family about regular health updates. When all this is done, when Kolkata falls asleep and I am even more numb from pain, I sit quietly, catatonic. Is this being strong or this numbness is extreme shock and extreme vulnerability? What does strength mean in this situation? Does it mean holding it together and getting the job done? If it is that, then I am being strong. But then when do I grieve? When can I just let all this go and scream and beat my chest and just cry my heart out?

I have this undescribable pain in my chest that is simply lodged there. I feel if I have a good, loud cry, the pain may just dislodge but would that seem weak? Also, tears are coming in spurts when a sudden memory rises up in my mind. When her whole life with me plays out in front of my eyes. All those years when we were apart seem such wasted time.

Saying I am in a lot of pain – is that strength or weakness?

This grief is an interesting process.

Thank you Didiya!

We have been inundated with kindness since tragedy struck our family. Along with good wishes, prayers, and after ma’s death, beautiful and meaningful messages of condolences, our friends and community have given us abundant food. Ryan has been very excited about the food part of the kindness. Every time he finds something he likes, he blows a kiss upwards with a smile and says, “Thank you Didiya!” Sahana said didiya would be so happy to see Ryan well fed and satisfied. She loved to see Ryan eat since he enjoys food so much.

I have seen Sahana grieve. She cries often, and smiles with me at Didiya’s fun memories. She has been my grieving partner whenever I have had time to grieve in between arranging for baba’s care. Sean has grieved openly as he held me in his arms and let me soak his shirt with my tears. Ryan is the only one who has retreated in his room. When we got the phone call at night all of us congregated on our bed. Ryan sat there for a long time while the three of us cried. I do not recall if he shed any tears. Then he went to his room. Since then he is less sullen and often compiles fun animal videos to show me. He also asks, “Mom do you need something?”

Today I had an opportunity to ask him how he is coping with didiya’s death. He said with a quiet conviction that didiya now is free. She is not stuck in that house with her mobility issues and health problems any more. She can go wherever she wants, whenever she wants. “I am happy she is not suffering and she is free”, he said. Also it is simply a matter of time before I will see her again. I know I will see her, you will see her. So we just have to wait and be patient.”

Then he said, “And mom, look how strong you are! Didiya’s death showed you what a strong woman you are!”

I wish I could prove my strength some other way, but the conviction of seeing her again made me smile. I told him I feel her in my heart. And he concurred that is wonderful too.

Planted a flower

My mother died of Covid on Mother’s Day. I saw her on a video call at the hospital and wished her happy Mother’s day in the morning. She wished me happy Mother’s day back. Then as they put the oxygen mask back on her, she said she was going to spend some time in her sister’s house and then go home. With that, she closed her eyes to rest. I take comfort in the thought that she died thinking she was in her sister’s house, comfortable. She had no visible discomfort. She fell asleep, lost consciousness and never woke up. For a fiery lady that she was in life, this was a very quiet, peaceful exit. She went gently into the night.

Sahana gave me a geranium plant for Mother’s day. The day after my mother died I did not know what to do with myself. Instead of pacing aimlessly in my living room, I thought I would plant my gift in memory of my ma. Planting the flower given by my daughter and in memory of my mother gave me tranquility. I don’t know what happens after death but I refuse to believe she is gone from me. I believe, at long last, thousands of miles between us is not a barrier any more. Her physical form could not traverse the distance to be with us whenever she wanted but now her spirit does not care about those miles. It gives me peace to think she is within me, surrounding me. A part of her, her gene, is always in me. But that is for the scientists to explain. I am trying to feel her essence, her benevolence, her love around me, enveloping Sahana, Ryan and Sean.

I go out often and sit by the baby flower plant. Within its green leaves, hopeful buds and one single bloom, I find my mother’s energy radiating into my universe.

The “goods” in week of May 3rd.

How can I write what was good this week when both my parents contacted Covid in Kolkata? My ma was put on a ventilator yesterday and then gave up the fight and my baba is still fighting it in the same hospital. Yet, there were ‘goods’ this week and I did not even have to think hard to find them.

We were fortunate to get 2 beds for my parents in the same hospital in a city which is being ravaged by this deadly virus and people can not get hospital beds or oxygen cylinders.

My friends, their husbands, some cousins, and a care giver from Tribeca Care, an elderly care service, are doing all they can to help since I am far away and are surrounding me with love and support. They made phone calls, found 2 beds in a hospital, organized ambulance care, talked to hospital administrators and got my parents admitted so they could get proper care.

Friends poured their love and good wishes on us from all over the world. Since I am a big believer in collective good will, I know a lot of good energy was released out in the universe which touched my parents.

I can not deny the mind numbing, troubled breathing kind of anxiety that I experience but quiet walks with Sean, nutritious meals prepared by Sahana and silent prayers by Ryan made me feel less alone.

Sean’s family messages us regularly to let us know they love us and are thinking of us.

My supervisor at work encouraged me to not think about that part of my life right now, but to simply focus on what was at hand. My coworkers showed their support in messages and emails.

I have not held back my tears and cried often this week. It is a cleansing experience. I wish I did not have reason to cry but I do. And the fact that I have allowed myself to cleanse through tears is good.

In times of trouble one finds out one is surrounded by a loving community, I think that is the ‘goods’ this week. In fact, that is the best.

My mother..

Recently a friend commented that he has renewed respect for his mother after singlehandedly cooking and taking care of his sick family members. He wondered how his mother did all this alone every single day. I don’t remember my mother in that role at all. She stayed far away from the kitchen. She declared loudly that she does not like to cook and only cooks when there is an absolute need. In 70’s Kolkata, that declaration was completely antithetical to the image of an ideal woman and a mother. Did she care though? Nope.

Instead of being a bringer of food, she nourished me with books. She ensured I was fed of course, but she also always made sure I had plenty of books to read. I used to get sick every month with some kind of fever as a child. Although I felt unwell, I did not mind the fever too much because every time I got sick, Ma bought new books to perk me up. They were not classics or anything deep, thought provoking or educational. They were Amar Chitra Kathas or comics of my favorite super heroes but I still remember the joy I felt in my fever ravaged mind as I saw the packet of books in her hands.

My favorite memory of Ma is us sharing the same pillow reading our respective books in summer afternoons during summer vacation.

Once school’s session ended and we got a few days off till next grade, she insisted I read a story book during the time assigned for homework just to stay in the habit of sitting down to work. I loved that ‘work.’ Interestingly, I got a job where reading is actually part of my work.

I remember her reading poems of Rabindranath Tagore to me starting with Shishu and then moving on to Sanchoyita. She guided me into the treasure trove of Bengali literature as she was a voracious consumer of all those treasures.

I remember her teaching me kindness.

I remember regurgitating all my school stories as a little girl while I ate my after school snack and she listening patiently.

My favorite thing about her is her laugh. She has this rumbling, all encompassing laughter which starts in her face and travels through her whole body and being.

She is very gullible. She believes easily and then laughs if she realizes she fell for some trick or pranks by her grand kids.

My Ma is not the one who worked all day to make me food or clean the house or arrange my table. She did work all the time to be my cheerleader, my fellow bibliophile, my confidante, my teacher, sometimes my counselor and also a strict disciplinarian.

She is fighting Covid in a hospital in Kolkata along with my father. I am very far away and can not be with either of them.

If you are reading this blog, do send some healing wishes to the universe for these people that you do not know but who could benefit from good, positive energy.

Happy mother’s day.

My flower bed

Having grown up in the concrete jungle of Kolkata, I yearned to see the lush green in the countryside of Bengal, but we did not have open space to grow a garden in the city. So we bought one or two potted plants and tried to keep those alive. So when we moved to the suburbs in America, I did not know what to do or how to nurture a garden. I was growing two little human beings then as my partner traveled and that took all my energy. Over the years though, I did grow some flowers, some herbs and lately some succulents.

I decided to get my flower bed ready this year for some planting after Mother’s day. The flower bed got no love from me all these months so when I went out there with my gardening tools and looked at the whole bed, I was somewhat overwhelmed. Will I ever get this jungle weeded in time? I decided to set a small goal of one patch at the beginning. So I set to my task of minutely digging out the weeds that had taken over that particular section. The whole flower bed still daunted me so I mindfully kept the thought of wholeness away as I worked on the small patch that I had chosen for the day. As I dug out the unwanted plants from their roots, their was a strange cathartic feeling and a sense of lightness. I was focused on each little green, mindful of every single weed in my chosen patch. Once I completely finished working on the patch, I stood up satisfied. I looked at the whole then. Although there was a lot left to be done, my worked-on section at the beginning of the bed looked beautiful and clean. The whole was not as daunting any more. I vowed to parcel up the whole into composites and focus on each composite each day. While not completely finished, most of my flower bed is weeded and I may be able to plant on Mother’s day.

My life as a whole is scary right now. As soon as my mind veers to the whole, I bring it back to the immediate step, the first step that needs my attention. Dealing with little parcels of the whole is more achievable. I am going to deal with what is right in front of me first and then move to the next small patch in life.

My flower bed has become a metaphor of my life at present.