Memories

Stories of Saagar and others like him

A silver heart

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His bench is where I go to say hello and good-bye and I love you, even though he’s with me always. One late September afternoon, a day before leaving London last year, I drove to where the bench is, in Dulwich College. I parked in front of the Great Hall. As I stepped out of the driver’s seat, something twinkled on the tarmac. I looked down and just by the rear wheel on my side of the car lay a black friendship-band with a silver heart. Just the kind of casual thing he would get for me. I picked it up and looked around. The car park was deserted. No claimants. I slipped it on my right wrist, convinced this gift was left at that particular spot, specifically for me. I wonder if that’s true or plain silly.

Working and celebrating together

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She could be my younger sister by two weeks. She’s survived and survived again. She’s been through so much mentally and physically but her spirit remains undefeated. Our children brought us together – Saagar and Stephanie. Both these young people were musically gifted, very compassionate and super-good-looking. This earthly realm proved to be too harsh a place for them both. It turned out their mothers were doctors, feeling betrayed by the very system they had been a part of. They were trying to understand the shortcomings in that system, make them visible and bring about change. They both felt guilty. They felt inadequate as mothers and as doctors. Each of them understood the other, without need for words.

Stephanie’s dad kept putting one step in front of the other, walking and running, cycling and swimming in memory of Stephanie. A strong believer in collaboration, he brought people, their efforts and voices together. He raised thousands of pounds and supported the endevours of individuals and charities to create more hope in the world. A dutiful father and husband, he looked after everything the best he could and continues to do so.

He believes that ‘using our Lived-Experience and working together, we will prevent future deaths.” I salute him and Stephanie’s mum for showing us what is possible when we connect and continue to cherish the memories of Stephanie. I thank them for their friendship which continuously enriches my life and warms my heart, even from across the oceans. I am grateful that together we can manufacture any excuse for a party. I feel blessed to know these two exceptional people with whom we can celebrate our children and our lives.

Happy Belated Birthday Doug! The party is due.

Nights – 3654.

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A hundred and twenty months. Ten years. An outrageous survival.

Each night angry, uncharitable.  Sleep. No sleep. Dreams. No dreams.The death of so many. Dreams.

In my dreams, I plead with you. Please stay, Be’ta.

We’ll find a way. Don’t give up yet. Don’t go away.

Come here. Sit with me.

Tell me what I need to know. Tell me what hurts you so. Tell me how I can make it go.

I could guess when you were hungry, thirsty.

To your amused annoyance, even when you wanted to pee. I just knew. I don’t know how.

But this one I did not see coming.   I couldn’t. I don’t know how.

I am sorry. I had no map. I was lost in the fast lane.

In my dreams, our dark sides are friends.

Together they figure it out, Have a laugh, make it all okay.

In my dreams, we breathe together nice and slow,

As if singing a joyful melody. We hold hands and dance in our kitchen

Crying on each other’s shoulders, secretly.

From the fridge, I pull out a white china bowl

Filled with pomegranate seeds,

Rubies, I harvested earlier in the day. Please stay, my Jaan. I would say.

In my dreams,

through my furious longing

I can momentarily understand.

Your pain, your silence.

I can understand why you had to go.

Like a boat sailing into a new morn,

I must release you.

I must stay.

I must let you be on your way.

In my dreams.



(An ancestor of this poem is Walt Whitman, who said, “We were together. I forget the rest.” )

The Wednesday Group.

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Dear Saagar,

Ten is a strange one. Who knew an innocent, round, even number like this could inflict such pain on one. The last note I had from you was ten years ago. It turned each moment of each day into an unwanted debt, heavily owed to God-knows-who. Potential decades stretched out before me like a horizon-less dark desert. I wished they would disappear. Time became the enemy, unfolding in fits and starts in wiggly circular patterns, etching lines of blood and tears on the surface of mighty oceans.  

Now, this gone decade demands recognition. It wants to be acknowledged in some way, however small. It deserves a pat on the back for braving through such turmoil and finally becoming a friend.

Hugo, Azin, Phoebe and some other friends, yours and ours came over for a Sunday lunch in early August and brought their friends along. Many of them, musicians. Remember Corinne Bailey Rae? You bought me her CD, Girl put your records on one Christmas? Remember how I sang along to it in the kitchen while cooking? On Sunday, we sang that song together. The Dock of the Bay and Ain’t no sunshine and Stand by me too.

We cut a chocolate cake for everyone who turned thirty this year. We were together for five glorious hours. Tens of sun-flowers smiled in vases dotted around the room and the sun shone on us as we talked and laughed and sang, just like the old times.

You won’t believe this but I resigned from my job recently. I know. I was so proud of it. I got so much from it. It meant so much to me but I feel liberated. Now someone else can do that lovely job while I work with my unique gift. In a world increasingly obsessed with labels, I am happy to lighten myself and shed a few.  

Last weekend, Si and I hosted a retreat for eleven bereaved parents. It was The Wednesday Group of the Circle of Remembrance that had started meeting online in May 2022. For more than two years we met for an hour and a half online every fortnight, sharing the most personal of things. This was the first occasion for us to meet in person as a group. It was divine.

One brown butterfly alighted on the left side of Si’s chest and rested on his white shirt peacefully for quite a while as we all talked and laughed and sipped our teas and coffees.

After returning home, one mum wrote to say,

“…this weekend has reminded me of who I am and what I am capable of as I continue to navigate this life I never expected or wanted to have.” 

What could be better?

I am blessed. Thank you for being my son.

Your essence remains here, with us.

Love you my darling.

Mamma. xxx

(Please visit http://www.core-community.com and contact us to join our loving and understanding community or recommend it to anyone who might find peer support after child loss helpful.)

(A handmade patchwork wall-piece for the home of CORe)

One less. One pless.

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This is a coffee-growing village situated within an area of outstanding natural beauty and huge bio-diversity. At an altitude of 1000 meters, it has a unique eco-ystem. Despite the fact that it rains a lot, it is charming as hell. Everyone drinks coffee all the time. The coffee-cups hold about three mouthfuls, possibly to make up for the frequency with which it is consumed, or else we would be seriously buzzing round the clock.

After a couple of months here, we have learnt to say ‘one less and one pless’ when Si and I order coffee at a roadside café. It means, may we have one cup without sugar and one with. The literacy rate here is officially more than 80% but all in Kannada. English, if spoken is often incorrect and extremely functional.

A few weeks ago, I volunteered to teach ‘Spoken English’ to the primary school kids at the local Government school for one hour every week. I have never done anything like this before. I have no idea if it will make any difference in the long run but if nothing else, we have fun together. Last week we blew bubbles, talked about their shapes, sizes and named the colours they capture. We tried to describe how they move through the air and how they make us feel. We agreed they made us all feel happy. That’s a good start.

On the way home, sitting at the back of the tuk-tuk my heart was overflowing with joy and then I remembered that I never blew bubbles with Saagar. My eyes welled up but I was still smiling.