Yesterday, the emails kept coming. Ping…ping…ping. They were from WordPress telling me I had comments on my blogs. That was surprising since this blogsite has been lying dormant for many months. It is not that I don’t think about this space. I think about it all the time. As I drive to work or gym, I formulate in my head, sentences that I would write in the blogs. But when the day is done, I look at my laptop and never turn it on.

Yesterday, my littlest cousin in Kolkata could not sleep so she went to my blogsite and read many of my blogs. Not only that, she kept writing comments on them. My favorite was “I love you so much, Didi.” I read the blogs where she left comments. Some of the blogs were sad, some of them were general observations of life around me. Seeing her comments and the fact that she was reading them thousands of miles away made me feel connected. I have written so much about my life in this space. I have written about my children, my travels, my everyday life that encompasses my joys as well as my grief. I still have not seen a grief counselor, although I am getting closer to the idea but this blogsite has helped me cope by allowing me to write down my feelings. I made those public and readers responded by saying some of those blogs helped them process their grief. That made me feel less alone.

We had beautiful weather this week. The barren trees are sprouting their luminous green, the green that is my absolute favorite. This new green that I get to see every year fills me with hope. This is potential at its finest. What flowers will May bring? How this nascent green will change to a deeper, somber green as the summer progresses till they are leached of their colors and become red and golden? I love this process, this circle of life. And I don’t mind my own transition from somber, deep green to the red and golden of mature years. Sure, I don’t enjoy the new medications that get added to my life, or the daily aches and pains of getting older, but I wonder with some anticipation (and a little dread of losing people I love) how the next phase would be? For the most part, I am eager to move on with life. At certain times, I am wistful. Especially as I see my children become their own people with their own lives. This is what every parent hopes for, yet there is a twinge in my heart as the grip loosens. Did I give them my best? Did I enjoy them to the fullest when they were younger? Why did I complain so much about how busy life was when they were little? Why did I make life so busy? So many questions, so much self critique. However, despite that, I feel so proud of them. Both of them are good people.

Back to weather. Yesterday, Sean and I went for a long walk in a local park. We decided to leave the paved walkway and follow a trail deeper into the woods. I was looking at my feet as I walked, mindful of treacherous roots that poked above the ground dangerously. I had already stumbled a couple of times but managed to stay on my feet. We stopped for a second and I looked around me. Sean was in mid conversation, saying something about his work. I touched his arm, and whispered, “Look! Look around us.” We were surrounded by young royals – trees that were getting their new leaves. The sun tried to peek in through the foliage that rendered the leaves luminous, fluorescent even. There was nobody around us. There was no sound except sweet chirp of birds. I felt insignificant and I felt special all at the same time. Insignificant in front of such majesty and special because I got to witness it.

I don’t go to any building that is designated as a place of worship. The little opening, surrounded by trees, sunlight creating dappled shadows around me was my temple, my church, my mosque. I did not pray. But I gave my thanks.