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Day 731

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Last night as I went to bed, like many times before I prayed for a quiet peaceful death in my sleep. Facing another day has often been a terribly treacherous prospect. A heart so shattered, wonder how it keeps me alive!

I woke up knowing today marked the same wretched point in the circle of time where we were 2 years ago – the same dark spot that has smudged the rest of my days, the same dagger that has gouged an incurable agonising hole in my being.

Finding excuses to stay in bed for a bit longer I turned my phone on. The first message was from a friend who had lit a few candles in Saagar’s memory and said she was thinking of us today. Then over the course of the day there were similar messages and phone calls from Saagar’s friends, their parents, our friends and family. I was amazed that so many people reached out to us. So many didn’t know Saagar and so many I have never met. It was truly healing and life-affirming. Yes. Together we can keep Saagar’s memory alive. And that of many other innocent young people like him. They will not be forgotten. Their life and death will not be a waste. Their stories will be told and retold till lessons that need to be learnt are learnt.

We held a traditional hindu prayer ceremony called ‘havan’ at home in the afternoon. Havan is a ritual of making offerings such as grains and ghee into a consecrated fire and invoking one or more deities. It is accompanied by chanting of Sanskrit prayers and mantras. It is said to purify the environment and allow for transformation of individuals. As I made those offerings into the fire, it made me think of the symbolism of surrendering anger, regret and guilt to the Gods so they could be transformed to love and empathy.

The day wasn’t so wretched after all.
It was a reminder of the enduring nature of love.

Thank you Saagar for being my son and for being you.
Thank you all for reaching out.

Day 730

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Historically, I love autumn. It seems that nature has been saving up all its grandeur all through the year for the month of October. The stunning, warm, earthy colours, the cushion of leaves under the feet, the crisp morning sun and the hypnotising evening light. A time for change.

Big change from the energetic lightness of summer to a calm and reflective time.
A time to be centered.
A time to be quiet.

Last 2 autumns have been cruel. They have thrown not just seasons, but Time out of synch. Things seem to be happening in the wrong order. Time has taken on a strange nebulous quality. Starting and stopping at will. Meandering and then barging ahead with full force.

This is a new autumn. It’s a new opportunity to heal. To learn to let go, like the trees let go of their leaves one by one, completely denuding themselves and bravely exposing themselves to the harsh winter, only to come alive again, fresh and new. To know that ‘acceptance’ and ‘forgiveness’ are processes that take their own time. They cannot be rushed. All we can do is allow time and space for them. Pain is a constant companion, sometime more visible than others. Again, it cannot be shooed away. All I can do is to acknowledge it and honour it and allow space for it to sit with me. Settle down.

“You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.”
― Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

Day 729

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There’s a box underneath my study table. Inside it there is a lovingly handmade pink valentine’s card addressed to him, a photo-booth picture of four teenagers with contorted shapes and faces, a secondary school magazine, a ladybird book called “Don’t worry William”, a key-ring with a bottle opener, a house key and a drum key strung on to it, a school ID card with his picture on it, a well stamped blue passport, a black diary with frayed corners, a lock of curly black hair lovingly stapled in an old plastic bag falling out of a baby-book, an oyster travel card, a sea-wolves t-shirt without sleeves, a union jack underwear, a black and white patterned arab scarf, a red and white cricket ball….

Daft and silly bits.
Useless! Utterly useless!

The smell, the voice, the shared laughter, the cuddles, the food … life.

“What have I left now you have gone
Where are my dreams, my hopes, my fears
I stand in shadows where the sun once shone
Does the mist arise or do I see through tears.” – Anon

Day 728

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A landscape of musical notes emanated from four musical instruments inspired by movement of people across the globe in search of a land of gold. When I closed my eyes, I could feel the magical textures at my fingertips and sense the turbulent river flowing and a lone vessel struggling to carry a tonne of isolation and desperation across to a place of hope. Vibrant colours could be heard and pathos felt in the core of my heart and every pore on my skin. The conversations and unison between those colours filled the space with absolute empathy for those forced to leave their homes, a cry against injustice of the refugee crisis. Crossing the Rubicon….dissolving boundaries…reunion…last chance…a boat to nowhere…

Land of Gold – an ode to those displaced.

Find the kind heart,
Rest your feet and soul.
May your kind heart
Find the land of gold.
Pay attention, say your name
Listen closely and keep warm.
Gentle hands, you are brave,
Look at me and carry on.
All is good, I love you.
You can hear me, you can call.
Sing your song with ease and pride.
I’ll be there, not far behind.
Tell them I walked
Tell them I walked your way
Tell them I walked
Tell them I walked your way

– By Anoushka Shankar

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8MO1Ziql48w)

Day 727

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We got the TV installed just before my parents came to stay for a few weeks. We hardly ever watch it. This evening I happened to switch it on as I was alone at home. I watched a film on the Aberfan disaster, a catastrophic collapse of a coal mine spoil tip in a small Welsh village. This occured in October 50 years ago and claimed the lives of 116 primary school kids. One of the snippets showed the utter chaos of it and mothers standing in a long row, passing rubble and bricks away from the disaster site. The mums, now in their 70s and 80s choked up while relating the experience and shared the pictures and sweet little belongings of their kids. They also remembered the great difficulty they had in surviving this immense loss. They wondered what their wee ones would be like as grown ups. They would be in their 50s now!

Wow! What must that be like!

It’s strange that while I actively seek out programmes on mental health related issues and thus manage my deep sense of loss, when I am not seeking anything out, the radio, TV or life bring me face to face with it.

12th of October 2014 was a Sunday. Diwali, the festival of lights was less than 2 weeks away. Diwali signifies joy, love, reflection, resolution and knowledge and represents victory of good over evil and light over darkness. The annual Diwali Mela was being celebrated at Trafalgar Square. Saagar and I went along to that and ran into a photographer friend who took a few pictures.

I had no idea that those would be our last pictures together. Was I in darkness then and now I am in light? Or was I in light then and now I am in darkness? I don’t know.

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This is one of those pictures. This is what a terminally ill person looks like.

With all due respect to parents whose kids have suffered cancer, I sometimes wish Saagar had cancer. It would have been taken seriously and looked after by specialists. I would have been given some facts, figures and things to watch out for. I would have had a chance to tell him how much I love him. I would have had a chance to say good-bye.