love

Day 830

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Now, I belong to a network of mums and dads who share the same loss. We exchange stories, everyday struggles and our little achievements. Sometimes it is something as small as getting through an hour, a day. But then, fighting to get through the night, an all too familiar scenario. We know. We understand. We listen.

Sometimes, it is an inspirational piece of craft, a moving piece of music, a long walk or a rant. All of us desperately trying to hold on to who we were and make sense of who we now are, hanging on to the shreds of our being with all our might, seeing ourselves in each other, watching our helplessness and grief spill across the screen over and over again only to gather it all up and see it as nothing but love. All the rags weave together to form a mesh that strengthens each one of us. We recognise our reflections in each other and feel our little angels sending us collective blessings. All that is inside of us is alive even if it feels like it isn’t. It’s the purest form of love.

Day 825

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“But, you have the rest of your life in front of you.”
‘That is a terrible thing to say! That is such a terrible thing to say.’
(A conversation between Jackie Kennedy and her friend a few days after JFK’s assassination, in the film ‘Jackie’)

These days I randomly find myself standing in queue at ticket-counters at random cinema halls looking for a ticket for the next show, whatever it may be. Last week it happened to be ‘Manchester by the sea’ and today, just by chance, it was ‘Jackie’, both portrayals of death, devastation and dignity. Is this Universe’s way of letting me know that I am not alone?

Many, who have survived violent deaths of their loved ones.
Many, who have struggled to keep their legacy alive.
Many, who have shown great dignity despite housing a volcano of anger inside them.
Many, who have silently hidden and nurtured their incessantly weeping wounds.
Many, who have wished for their own death every night while staring into the darkness.
Come morning, many who have put on a ‘brave’ face.
Many, who have thought, ‘I could have saved him.’
Many, who have insisted the world witnesses the aftermath.
Many, who have held the bodies of those they love, in disbelief.
Many, who have not even had the chance to do that.

Well, I guess I am not alone.

Day 822

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the-drummer

Jack Samuel on Facebook:

When I found out about the passing of Saagar Naresh, I had very little time to process my thoughts. Sitting on a train to Munich several days later, I was alone with my thoughts for the first time, and a memory of Saagar popped into my head. We were in the music room at Aidan’s, having one of our last-minute band rehearsals. At the end of a song, we realised that one of the porters had been standing outside the room, listening to us. He came in, and he said “I’m loving the music, but could you possibly play a little more quietly?” Assuming that he could hear us from his desk upstairs, we weren’t all that surprised that we were being a bit loud. What we hadn’t realised was that the porter had come from a conference in the Lindisfarne Centre at the other side of college. He had come to tell us that Saagar was drumming so loudly that everyone in the conference could hear him. By extension, Saagar was probably interrupting the whole of college. I wouldn’t be surprised if people in the other Hill colleges could hear him. Nobody drummed as loudly as Saagar.

This is a song I wrote for Saagar that day on the train. Even if Saagar and I sometimes had a different approach to life, he is such an important part of some of my best memories of Durham. He had a joke for every situation, a great awareness of the world, and the most powerful drumming style I have ever seen on a man.

RIP Saagar, this one’s for you.

Here is a song for someone who will bang the drums so loudly that we’ll always be able to hear him, no matter where he is. R.I.P. big man.

https://soundcloud.com/dontstealoursun/bang-the-drum

Day 819

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scan-3

The night temperatures are below freezing. The weather forecasts are sending out warnings of frost and black ice. I thought a hot water bottle for the night would be a good idea for uninterrupted sleep. I placed it against my lower back as I drifted off in fetal position. It was comforting and sleep-inducing, resting perfectly still against my lumbar spine. I was wrapped up in my duvet and the bottle, in a thick white cotton towel under the duvet.

Sometime during the night, I surfaced to a semi-awake state and felt a small bundle next to me. It was warm and cuddly. Still half submerged in slumber, my mind floated away into the past. My hands brought the bundle up to my chest and held it close. It didn’t move. I hugged it and kissed it. The pain of the love and the longing came back. The absolute joy of cuddling my baby came back. The memory of how he slept with his bum in the air came back. The sense of the way he moved round in his sleep came back. The tears came back. The pillow got soaked but the eyes stayed closed and the attention went to the sobs, the sadness and the breath and then slowly…the sleep came back.

Day 807

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To talk about Saagar isn’t easy.
Yet to not share his story, impossible.
Hoping it helps somebody!

To miss him so much, it hurts
Unbearably.
Yet, to know he’s always with me.

To carry on living here,
in our house is tough.
To leave, unthinkable.

To look at his beautiful pictures,
Crushing!
Yet, life-sustaining.

To meditate,
Feeling one with the universe
Whole and complete.
Yet, a black void!

To smile,
knowing that’s what he would want.
And feel the eyes well up,
Involuntarily.

To feel,
utmost gratitude for all that he was, is, will be.
And never let him die.

(http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b088rynq/victoria-derbyshire-09012017
: 02:13 minutes and then a little more at about 03:15)