Vincent and James.

2017 – 16. Male. RIP.

2024 – 19. Male. RIP.

Brothers. Second generation Chinese immigrants in USA. Their mother, a writer who lost both of them to suicide.

Where Reasons End (2019) by Yiyun Li, after Vincent’s death.

I read this book when it was first published. An imagined conversation between her and her older son, Vincent who lived ‘feelingly’. Sixteen chapters, one for each year of his life. It has a witty and mischievous tone. Nicholai, a name he gave himself, chides his mother’s new embrace of cliches and adjectives. “If you’re protesting by becoming a bad writer, I would say it’s highly unnecessary,” he says. (“Dying is highly unnecessary too,” she shoots back.)

Things In Nature Merely Grow – Pulitzer Prize Finalist 2025, by Yiyun Li, a memoir. She wrote it within two months of her younger son, James’ death. I feel deeply for her and with her but I am not sure I want to read that book right now. A few lines from it sing true:

“I am in an abyss. If an abyss is where I shall be for the rest of my life, the abyss is my habitat.”

“My children were not my burden. My sadness is not my burden.”

“I am very realistic in that I would always acknowledge that I am limited as their mother. I was limited, and I am still limited as a mother, so I can only do my best.”

When people hold an expectation that her grief must have an end date, she retorts, “How lonely the dead would feel, if the living were to stand up from death’s shadow, clap their hands, dust their pants, and say to themselves and to the world, I am done with my grieving; from this point on its life as usual, business as usual.”

“This is a very sad fact of our lives, they took their own lives knowing we would accept and respect their decision.”

Could I accept and respect Saagar’s decision one hundred percent? I believe it was not his decision. It was his utter helplessness and desperation in the face of his illness, his unsuitable antidepressants, lack of medical care, his isolation, his inability to recommence his education, our inability to talk about it and so much more. He was driven to it. It was not by choice. Anyone who knew him, knows that. I do understand though.

I understand, my darling.

References:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/feb/05/where-reasons-end-yiyun-li-review#

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2025/may/17/author-yiyun-li-on-the-suicide-of-both-her-sons

Thirty-one.

(Courtesy: astronomy.com)

“Longing is divine discontent, the unendurable present, finding a physical doorway to awe and discovery that frightens and emboldens, humiliates and beckons, makes us into pilgrim souls and sets us on a road that starts in the centre of the body and then leads out, like an uncaring invitation, like a comet’s tail, felt like both an unrelenting ache and a tidal pull at one and the same time, making us willing to give up our perfect house, our paid-for home and our accumulated belongings.

Longing is felt through the lens and ache of the body, magnifying and bringing the horizon close, as if the horizon were both a lifetime’s journey away and living deep inside at some unknown core – as if we were coming home into a beautifully familiar, condensed strangeness.”

  • An excerpt from an essay on Longing by David Whyte in his book ‘Consolations’.

I long for the warmth of that hand on my right shoulder, that lovely smile, those big brown eyes and that dimple on his chin.

Blessed is the day you were born. Bless you my darling, wherever you are.

The C-word.

He was born in May. I was 28. A pleasant pregnancy. Normal birth. No fuss, just like him. The Army hospital sent us a bill for Rupees 16 afterwards.

I want to organise a party. I want to sing a song for him even though I know he’ll be embarrassed if I did that. I want to see that look on his face. I want to put together a playlist for the party. Plan a menu and draw up a list of guests. Find a venue and a theme.

Most of all, I want to see him. Wish him a happy birthday and a great year ahead. I want to kiss his forehead. I want to present him the book, “A Gentleman in Moscow” by Amor Towles. I think he will love it.

I want him to know I feel blessed to be remembering him, for all this love. I want to celebrate him and the day he was born.

Oh! The C-word. Can I?? Am I eligible?? Do I meet the inclusion criteria?

Yes. Celebrate.

I can. I want to. I will.

Notwithstanding the yearning, I celebrate the essence of him.

Despite the apparent separation, I celebrate the felt connection between us.

Though the approaching day intensifies the pain, it also pushes the roots of love deeper into the ground.

Despite everything, I cherish the little piece of eternity we shared.

You were a wave in the ocean

For a sliver of time, an age ago

and the sand on that beach

Still awaits your return.

It remembers being soaked in you

for a few glorious moments.

It remembers who you were.

The quiet beach and the setting sun

Smile at the memory of your face,

Writing cues…

I don’t like to gossip but…

I shouldn’t really say this but…

I’m really sorry but…

It’s none of my business but…

I don’t mean to be difficult but…

I know this sounds judgmental but…

I don’t mean to pry but …

I know it’s selfish but …

I don’t think you’re fat but …

I don’t mean this to be offensive but…

My husband is a real darling but…

I’m not a racist but…

I know it’s awkward but…

Everyone loves my dad but…

I think she’s adorable but …

It’s not about how old you are but…

So many years have passed but… I was invited to speak at a national conference last month. I said yes.

National Confidential Inquiry into Suicide and Safety in Mental health (NCISH) 11th Annual conference on the 8th of May 2025 at 10 am UK time. This year the focus is on people who had been in contact with Mental Health services within a year of their death. It’s free, short and online.

Registration : Here

Delegates booklet: Delegate Booklet 

Recent report: Recent NCISH Report.

Like this only.

I guess only in India we are talking like this sometimes. But you are understanding. So, it’s okay. If the weather is not kind right now, it will change. We will pass through time. We’ve got to have patience, like the trees. No kind of weather is lasting for ever. The autumn ten years ago, I thought would stretch past eternity. I was wrong. How little I knew. It changed many times, inside and out. I wonder how many other things I was wrong about.