So many disappeared.
I saw them on Day 1 and 2 and then nothing. Not even a text or a call.
Luckily, the early days were a fog, a maze. Luckily, I have forgotten so much.
Some people, who were nothing more than work colleagues showed up big time. They could sit with my despair. They sent me little books of poems for difficult times in the post. They met with me for coffee in town. They called up and chatted on the phone. They made a note of Saagar’s birthday and death anniversary and sent me cards, saying, thinking of you today. Simple, small things that meant the world.
Some people spoke very little but their body language boomed loud and clear. They mirrored the contraction inside me. Their empathy shone through that. On the second day, Rajeev, an old friend sat with us for two hours in silence. Before leaving, he said, “If there is anything I can do, please let me know.” Over the next months and years, he followed my blog, commented on posts and casually dropped by when he could. He let me know he was there.
Some people possibly saw in me, the worst possible lashing of fate as a parent. Maybe they got frightened. The speed of their exit indicated their fear of catching it. Some people who were previously in the ‘life-long friends’ category, vanished. One of them was a Psychiatrist, a mother of two. One of her children, Rajat, was a close friend of Saagar when we were neighbours in Belfast. The two boys spent every evening together cycling, playing and talking. They often had their dinner and their bath in each other’s houses. I still have a picture of them at six-year-olds, with the alien they constructed together from their toys and balloons. We were the closest of friends for four years and then they moved to Birmingham and we, to London. We stayed in touch and visited each other but the boys grew apart as boys of that age do. After their visit on Day 2, our next contact was a wedding invitation to Rajat’s wedding by a WhatsApp message, eight years on.
Of course, people don’t understand. They can’t. It’s not their fault. I wouldn’t want them to because they would have to experience this. If this had happened to a friend of mine, I would like to think that I would’ve been there for her but I don’t know that for sure. The woman I was in the ‘Before’ might have been too busy or too afraid or too awkward. I don’t know.
Some of Saagar’s friends have been with us all along. We’ve attended every concert we could as Hugo and Azin have risen in their musical careers. We have met up for meals and walks as often as possible. We’ve met their partners, watched them buy houses and change jobs. Our connection with them seems to be made of the same silk as our love for Saagar, and his memory. We feel blessed to have these young people in our lives.
Yes. My address book has radically changed. Like me.
Resource: How to be with someone who is grieving:
kidsaregifts 