Grief inequity

It is traumatic to lose a loved one. I don’t even know a strong enough word to evoke the sentiment that one feels when one loses two loved ones within a span of 9 days. It has been over a year that this happened to me and the surge of grief is more of a simmer than a boil. However, certain words, emotions, events often bring the emotion to a boiling point even now. My colleague recently died. The day I heard that I could not stop this overwhelming sense of despair engulfing me. My gentle coworker and I had many conversations over the course of ten years that we worked together, most of which featured the topic of caring for our parents. When I heard the news that she passed away, I was crying for her and I was crying for my own loss. I simply could not control my tears and the deep feeling of heart wrenching sadness.

I play a game with my grief sometimes. That sounds morbid and perhaps game is not the right word for what goes on in my mind either. There are days when I miss my mother too much. I miss her so much that I can not bear the fact that she is gone forever. Then I think in my mind “Oh no, baba would feel left out. I am not missing him enough. That is not right. I need to miss them equally.” I start thinking of his memories. On other days, some words or smell or the beauty of nature bring baba’s smile to my mind. My memories become awash with his words, actions, sense of humor. And suddenly I think, “Yikes, ma would be upset that I am not missing her right now with the same intensity.” I start thinking of her. I don’t allow myself this inequality in grieving.

I scold myself for this silliness, laugh at myself too. They don’t care what goes on in my mind. They are beyond caring.

One year….part 2

I went to sleep on the night of May 18th of 2021 with a lighter heart. After more than 2 weeks of struggle, baba seemed to have turned the corner. His numbers looked good, he finished his meal and even had a little appetite. Although he had oxygen mask on, he wanted to say a lot to Sahana when she came on the video screen to talk to him. He died the next day, May 19th, 2021. Like my mother, his death was peaceful. He slowly fell asleep and in his sleep he stopped breathing. Everytime I think that they are dead, even after a year, I get a jolt. How is it possible?

Baba liked to get things done. If there was a problem, he had to solve it. He would not rest till he solved it. He loved to talk about astronomy, watch martial art movies and when his eyes were good, read trashy paperbacks. He was no connoisseur of good literature. He loved Bollywood music and loved to watch ‘keora nritya’ during Durga puja’s bhashan. And he loved animals. He was the protector of all the strays in our neighborhood. If any of them got hurt, he arranged their transportation to vet hospitals, made sure all of them got fed. We were wary of our clothes if we got dressed up to go somewhere and baba was with us. His animals crowded around us and jumped on us too to show affection. Ma, of course, screamed at him – “joto adikhyeta!” Ryan loved it.

There is so much to write about him, about my memories of him. But today my heart is heavy and I will keep the words within me for now. When the words come spontaneously, I will write a bigger blog then. Today, on his one year death anniversary, this disjointed blog will have to do.

All these months, I have coped with my grief by giving them a release in my blogs. It really helped. But words did not flow when I started writing this blog. I wondered why. I think the desperate fight to keep him alive, the brief hope followed by brutal, merciless, unbearable pain is something my brain does not want to revisit. If I think back on those days, I start going back down a deep, dark chasm and my brain is perhaps protecting me from revisiting that dark place. Baba was mostly a happy person who liked to live life at large. My homage to him would be smiles, positive thoughts, hope and food – always food.

A dream that I do not remember.

I dreamt of ma last night. I never remember my dreams and I did not remember the specifics of this one either. I just remember the last shot/frame of the dream. Ma was looking at something over my head, in a white georgette saree with black border and tiny embroidery done in the body of the saree. She had her signature big maroon bindi on her forehead. Her skin was glowing with its usual healthy glow. Her body was partially turned. She was not necessarily smiling but her face looked content. When my eyes opened and the vision disappeared, I thought, “Huh! She is dead!” Even with that reaction though, I was not plunged into deep despair. There was a lightness in my heart in the morning because the essence of that dream still lingered. This was the sixth time I dreamed of ma. And yes, I keep count.

I was narrating to Sahana my dream and the snippet of it that stayed with me. I said, “Interestingly enough, it did not make me cry like usual.”

She smiled. “Take the wins, mom. Just take the wins whenever you get it.”

As I pondered over her words, I realized ‘taking the wins’, indeed, is the meaning of contentment perhaps. I will take the wins whenever I get them.

Music

I am listening to Rabindrasangeet (songs written by Rabindranath Tagore), as I sautè chopped onions, add fresh ginger and garlic paste, spices, chopped tomatoes to the dal simmering on the stove top. Along with the aroma of my very familiar food, memories are wafting towards me of days gone by. Each song that comes up in my Spotify Playlist evokes different memories. Memories of people, memories of moments, memories of a slice of life that I have lived, memories of sunshine and happiness, memories of heartbreak too. Music does that to one’s soul. I did not listen to music after my parents’ death. We listened and loved similar songs and I have innumerable memories of singing along to those in our shared moments together. Listening to those songs alone was simply too painful. I have slowly allowed music to seep into my life again. I realize with astonishment how life truly goes on. How I am living and laughing too at times. Sleeping at night however is a different matter altogether though.

Ma, for the life of her, could not carry a tune. Did that stop her from singing out loud along with songs that played on our radio? No, it did not. I am not a connoisseur either but I can recognize correct notes. I, of course, never said a word about ma’s singing abilities but I did laugh inwardly. I was mean to her singing prowess – in my head.

Baba, on the other hand, was quite a crooner. He would close his eyes when his favorite song came on the radio and croon along with a lot of emotion and actually sung quite well. But more than his singing, I enjoyed hearing about his memories associated with songs that he loved in his youth. He would talk about them sometimes. I tried to picture him as a young man, hanging out with his friends from his engineering college, going on trips, Durga pujas of his youth, a snatched memory of his mother or father.

My mother and father have become memories now. As the songs pour into my soul, I remember our shared moments. Music, today, was bitter sweet.

About half an hour…

It was cold outside but the morning was golden with bright sunshine. The sun streamed into our living room illuminating the photos of ma and baba. As I sat in front of them like every morning, sipping my coffee, I visualized in my mind’s eye the moment when those photos were taken. We have those moments.

I put on my coat, put in my ear plugs and went out for a brisk walk on a crispy cold day. The melodious voice of Kabir Suman singing Rabindra Sangeet poured on to my soul. As I crunched on the dry grass, felt the soft sun on my face and soothed my soul with music, I thought of ma and baba. A strange thought gave me peace today. I don’t know if they are looking down upon me, but I want them to be free of me and my life. I want them to start anew. Go on to your next life, find new happiness, forge new relationships, fall in love again, create your own tapestry of life with love and friendship and yes, loss too since that is inevitable. I will live out my life with the memories and in my mind I will always feel your love for me, my children and my husband. I don’t want you to look down upon me. Be new you.

I am writing this after my walk before the glow of contentment passes and the familiar feelings of anger, longing and heart break return. But while it lasts, I will cherish this new feeling of being able to let go.

A place where I want to be…

This is not necessarily a glamorous photograph that I would share with the world for likes and compliments. This was taken just a few days ago by Ryan to test out the picture taking ability of his new iPhone, a phone that he purchased with entirely his own money. This was taken in a moment of happiness when I was with my family in a fall afternoon.

He took photos of me as we sat on opposite sides of each other in our favorite Indian restaurant. He put different filters on the photos, laughed at most of them as I looked ridiculous. But he shared this one with me. Unfiltered.

The “me” in this photo is almost the “me” before my parents died. This “me” is the one who almost always had an inner joy. Even on the darkest day, this “me” could talk myself out of despair. The current me is “walking a narrow path through the loss………taking sips of sorrow…..” as Julia Alvarez says in her beautiful novel Afterlife. One day, I want to be back where, once upon a time, the previous “me” used to be. I have embarked on the journey, the path is narrow and I am trying (and failing sometimes) to not fall off the edge. One day I plan to arrive.

Little things

Once the all encompassing sorrow recedes after a major loss, the wave of grief leaves behind little memories, which, like little pebbles, scratch open the scabs of the wound for some slow seepage of intense pain.

Little things like the absence of a daily wsapp message to ma “ki korcho?” (What are you doing?) And her unchanging response “TV dekhchi.” (Watching tv).

Little things like the urge to tell them about moments I loved or moments that made me sad.

Little things like something I read or a piece of music that all three of us listened to when I was young.

Little things about Sahana or Ryan. Things that only they would care about other than us.

Little things like opening up Facebook and checking if baba was active. If he was active, I knew he was well. The day after he contacted Covid, he went active on Facebook for a while. I turned to Sean and said, “He must be feeling better, he is posting on Facebook.”

Little things like checking when wsapp was last seen by ma.

Little things like teasing ma about timing my phone calls according to Rani Rashmoni’s show times on television.

Little things like planning our Kolkata trip.

Little things like connecting to the hotel wifi wherever we traveled and letting them know we have arrived wherever we were supposed to arrive. “Pouche gechi.” (We have arrived). And their response, “khub enjoy korish. Chobi tulish dekhbo.” (Enjoy a lot. Take a lot of pictures for us to see).

I realized these little things even more on our recent trip where the two anxious people thousands of miles away who waited for that message of arrival are waiting no more. My cousin sister, however, said, “I will be waiting. Write to me when you arrive.” So I wrote to her.

Little things like the constant realization that neither of them are physically there any more – living their life, showering me and mine with love.

Little things (not a little thing, this keeps me up at night) like I could not say goodbye when they left.

The “goods” in the week of August 2nd.

The weeks and days seem to blur for me and it is difficult to remember the “goods” of this week. Did that good thing happen this week or the last, that is the question. Anyway, here is an effort to remember the “goods”.

My book club met this week after 2 months. Last 2 months were horrendous and I did not have the mental bandwidth to prepare discussion questions for books. However, when we met and discussed our selection for the month of July, I realized how much I enjoy meeting with each of those participants every month. How much they enrich my understanding of a book by their insightful input.

One work day I had lunch with a dear friend and coworker. She asked me how I coped or continue to cope with my losses. She has both parents living but both are elderly and she shudders to think of the eventuality. So we discussed. Sharing my thoughts with her was cathartic. I will write a different post about that conversation.

I went to the farmer’s market on Wednesday with friends.

Sahana, yet again, cooked delicious fried rice for our lunches. I am grateful for her love of cooking as well as culinary skills.

We got to pup sit for my friend’s puppy. She is my therapy pup.

My flowers look lovely and the African daisies are in full bloom. So are the gladiolus plants.

All of a sudden, I received a gorgeous dish garden from florists. A coworker sent it to me saying she continues to think of me and prays for me every day. I thanked her. Grief is lonely but it helps when one is enveloped with love.

Ryan is enjoying a couple of weeks of free time and is hence much nicer to be around. I am even getting occasional hugs.

Lastly, Sean and I embarked on a road trip down south. We hit Durham and Raleigh. We are now in Charleston and will visit Virginia beach before heading home.

As Sean and I sang along to the Spotify list that Sahana gifted Sean with our favorite songs as we drove down Interstate 95, I realized how much I love being with the man I married.

Although thoughts of ma and baba are never far from my mind and although there are several moments of sadness off and on, I am happy to be away from home and seeing something new with my favorite person.

This morning I asked Sean if he minded me talking about my parents to him so much. Talking about them, even their death and my sadness, helps me. He said “Absolutely not.” His eyes teared up along with mine.

Hope your list of “goods” is long and hope you have a great week.

Wait, I am gonna cry….

The conversation was just general. Before the library opened, my coworkers and I were doing our regular work that we do every day to get the library ready for public. Between pulling online requests for materials we often chat, catch up, listen to music as we do our treasure hunt of books, cds, dvds. Two of my friends asked me about our plans for Sahana’s birthday and I began to tell them. Out of nowhere, I had an overwhelming surge of grief that overpowered me within seconds. Do you know the feeling when your nose starts itching and you realize a sneeze is coming? It was the same feeling except the stinging was in the eyes and sudden grief was suffocating. Instead of a sneeze, tears started rolling. If it was not so sad, it would be funny really.

“I am sorry, I am going to cry.” I said and I did exactly that. I started crying. And while I cried I walked towards the restroom for napkins and water. Once the tears eased up, I wiped my eyes, obliterating the carefully applied kajol in my eyes, splashed water on my face and joined my two friends. And they welcomed me back without making me feel even a tiny bit awkward. As if it is completely natural for someone to burst into tears between general conversation.

The point of this blog post is to acknowledge that I have some people in my life who simply take these outbursts in their stride and continue loving me. While I grieve my loss, they allow me the time to do so while standing by with their quiet love. I guess that is what friendship is all about. They don’t tell me not to cry, they don’t tell me to be strong. I am grateful that they allow me to be vulnerable but I don’t break because they hold me up with their love.

Little Bud

My friend gave me a bag of gladiolus bulbs at a time when I was indiscriminately planting flowers to nurture some form of life after losing 2 most precious (to me) lives to Covid in quick succession. I had never had much luck in growing plants from seeds or bulbs but I was mentally exhausted to think about what would thrive and what would not and somewhat fatalistic about planting. I needed to dig holes, separate roots and gently place them in the hole with the hope that it will draw nutrition and grow up to radiate beauty and yes, joy.

To be honest, I had forgotten about the bulbs till I saw young green shoots emerging from the soil. I think I was weeding when I noticed them. They certainly looked different from crab grass and I stopped myself from plucking them from the ground. Could they be…? They were! Gradually they grew to be long green stalks, some grew more than others. They were just that for a long time though – long green stalks. Sean and I wondered if that is the end of their journey. And then we saw some diamond shaped patterns on the head of one stalk. I kept close eye on it. The next metamorphosis that I noticed was a deeper shade of purple just underneath the green. And today, when I walked out to go for my walk, I saw this.