A Loss To Bear

Disclaimer: This is a personal post written on my mother’s tenth death anniversary to help deal with the loss. Request empathy and understanding from the readers. Thank you.

Dearest Mumma,

As I write this post today, my heart is a mixed bag of emotions. I keep remembering and talking to you all day but putting pen to paper (or typing away, in this case) is something I haven’t done in a long time. Let’s just say, sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie. Why express and tell the world that I’m hurting when it’s easier to show otherwise? It’s not cool.

Yet, on your tenth death anniversary today both silence and brevity are eluding me. Ten long years of laughing, crying, struggling, winning, losing, learning, hoping and living together through it all, without you. Although it seems just like yesterday the terrible news reached us, nothing has ever been the same. Time has changed and while adapting to it we have changed too.

You left us five days before Angel’s first birthday, a shock I hadn’t processed until a couple of months later. My mind refused to register your absence and I insisted on dressing her up and cutting a cake at my in-laws’ place (who thankfully relented). I now realise that something had snapped in my head to even consider doing so. Seeing you being taken away was just the beginning of what would be a long and unattended period of delusional normalcy. I cried alone for days only to be reprimanded by A since it was traumatic for both the kids.

The craving for motherly affection made me reach out to elders in the family but they would rather sympathise than empathise. It was a heartbreaking revelation. The disgusting line bagair maa ki bachchi became an integral part of my life. Festivals came and went but my phone never rang with offerings for handholding or comfort. I learned to internalise my need for it too. After all, I had Dad and my brother to share my grief with me. It was our pain, our loss, and we didn’t need anyone’s charity.

What really did and still breaks my heart though is how both the kids miss their time with you. A Jr remembers you but Angel doesn’t know you at all, which is such a pity. She’s the perfect daughter you wished to have and is the truest reflection of you. Confident, outgoing, particular and with an exquisite eye for detail, you would be so proud of her! Sadly, I was none of it and never got over it. Smartness does skip a generation.

There are days when I commiserate my existence. It bugged me no end when you loved to tell me what to do. Now that I can, I seek your guidance. There’s no one to remind me about a puja or a fast, or to make me place courtesy calls I absolutely abhor. I’m inching close to menopause and miss that motherly talk to help me through it. The kids are growing up and the challenges of parenting often overwhelm me but alas, it’s a road I have to travel alone. How could you do everything right?

I craved for your validation all my life and desperately hope that you’re happy with what I’ve done with myself. Even now as I wear a saree, prepare a traditional recipe or buy a piece of jewellery my first instinct is ‘Would you approve of it?‘. You raised me with such high standards that nothing less would do. Angel is just like you.

There’s a certain guilt that we’ve moved on in life. We talk about you but not as longingly as we did a few years ago. Are we bad people or loss becomes bearable over time? While I keep my feelings to myself, it’s surprising when A brings up your topic and fondly reminisces our time together. His, as well as Dad’s, love and pampering for me have markedly changed after your passing away. Men behave strangely but are such softies. But you know that already, don’t you?

I hope that you’re having a rocking time wherever you are. You’re free from all the pain and that’s what matters the most to us. Thanks a lot for hard negotiating with Bhagwanji for a happy and blessed life for all of us. Your loss has made a hole in our lives that nothing can fill but living with it or not isn’t a choice we can make.

Love you a lot. Keep Smiling.

Babbu.

This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla.

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Varsh

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