grieving

Day 792

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Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well.
Nothing is hurt, nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

–Henry Scott Holland, Professor of Divinity, University of Oxford. Early 20th century.

Wish you were in this room or the next. Wish I could have filled a stocking with goodies for you. Wish we could have shared this day with those we love. Wish I could have heard you call out to me, “Mamma!” Wish we could have cooked and cleared up together talking about silly things. Wish we could have played a game of table-tennis or charades or carom. You were so good at them! And such fun! I did play, pray, smile and think of you a lot. I missed you every minute of the day but I was ‘normal’. Went mountain biking for the first time. I remembered how you loved stamping your little feet in puddles on the footpath when you walked to and from your primary school. I enjoyed cycling through similar muddy puddles and felt how you must have felt. Si was amused by the squeals. Your name was spoken many times with love and pride as if you are here. And you are, in our hearts. Utterly unforgettable. Till we meet again…

Day 790

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Home is so sad

Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped to the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft

And turn again to what it started as,
A joyous shot at how things ought to be,
Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:
Look at the pictures and the cutlery.
The music in the piano stool. That vase.

  • by Philip Larkin

Here is a link to the video recordings of presentations made at a Suicide Prevention conference in Belfast, Northern Ireland on 17th November 2016. Stories of triumphs, visions, ideas and tragedies. All worth watching. The 10th one tells the story of Saagar and my sad home.

https://contactni.com/Contact-Conference-2016-Suicide-Prevention-What-Works.php

Day 789

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It’s come back. Last 2 years we sat on a beach and pretended it wasn’t happening. We ignored Christmas. Overlooked it. Avoided it. This year, we are home. We are here to face it in all it’s glory and brutality, helplessly watching the abundance of ‘missing’ it precipitates. For many years I volunteered to work on Christmas as I believed it meant more to my colleagues who belong to the Christian faith than it did to me. With whatever time we had together as a family we enjoyed the social aspect of X-mas.

When Saagar was eleven, I wrapped his gift in a hurry and left the roll of wrapping paper in the ‘miscellaneous’ cup-board. When he saw the gift from Santa, he gave me a quizzical look, like a cocker spaniel and said, “But…”. That was the end of it. Although we laughed about it, the Santa story was blown away in that instant. As an adult he thought it was unfair on kids to be ‘lied to’ by their parents. We took different standpoints on matters of wonder, mystery, magic and innocence.

After much internal resistance over the last week, I finally installed a postmodern Christmas tree of white and silver twigs with pink fairy lights right in front of Saagar’s picture. Milkshake loved it and immediately took shelter underneath it. He hasn’t budged in 3 days except for short food and loo breaks. Last evening 3 of Saagar’s friends had dinner with us. I was reminded of how much fun we would have talking about absolutely inconsequential things (drivel) for hours! The fabulous combination of a sharp intellect and a great sense of fun was familiar. Laughter filled the house. American, South African, Indian and Australian accents appeared and disappeared. Stories of travels, girl-friends, dysfunctional families, Facebook pictures and safe-spaces were shared. Opinions on demands for transgender toilets and identity politics were expressed. Future plans were discussed. B showed off her new elephant tattoo and I proudly displayed my Saagar tattoo. Food was polished off. Time flew past.

Wonder what he would have looked like at 22. Wonder what he would have done after graduation. Wonder if he would have had a girl-friend. The ‘missing’ is awful but ‘what might have been’ is killing too.

It was happy and sad. We missed him. Our love for him and his for us brought us closer together. That is the new normal – joyful and tragic at the same time – 2 sides of the same coin.

Day 788

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Even if you hold a grieviance, so be it. Come to break my heart again.
Do come, if only for the act of leaving me again.
Our relationship may not be the same now, but even if seldom,
Come to fulfill the rituals and traditions of the world.

To whom all must I explain the reason of separation,
Come, despite your displeasure, at least for the sake of the world.

Till now my hopeful heart is keeping some expectations from you,
But at least come back to put off these last candles of hope.
Too long have I been deprived of the pathos of longing,
Come my love, if only to make me weep again.
Respect the depth of my love for you a little,
Come someday to placate me as well.
It has been a long time I haven’t had the luxury of grieving,
My peace-of-mind please do come back if only to make me cry.

-English translation of ‘Ranjish hi sahi’, urdu poetry by Ahmad Faraz

Day 786

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An early morning taxi ride to Sky News studios. A brief disjointed interview. No idea where I was supposed to look as there were 3 cameras in front of me. No preparatory cup of tea, orientation or introduction. I think they assumed I was a professional when in fact I was a bundle of nerves. Despite what everyone said, I know I blew it. Well, it’s over now. A sigh of relief!

Then came another one – a sigh of sadness arising from a heavy heart, expelling melancholy from the body. My eyes fell upon his beautiful face and there… another sigh! According to old wisdom, sighing is a way of maintaining physical and mental health. It was also an accepted method of prayer, a way of communicating with the divine.

Got started with work and found more sighs of boredom, frustration, irritation and disappointment coming forth. The unburdening of the soul through a deep in-breath and out is strangely satisfying too, especially when it is not audible to anyone but you. At the end of a working day, a content sigh of a job well done.

A quiet evening at home with the cats as Si is out of town. Sigh!

“You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh, the fundamental things apply, as time goes by…”