Memories

Day 755

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There was no choice but to have a child-minder. She was a kind and gentle single woman who lived close by. She could accommodate my emergency night duties that came once every 3 or 4 nights. She picked him up from school most days except when I had an off-day post on-call. He loved to see me at the school gates. He ran to me with a big smile and open arms.

This afternoon we met again for the first time since Saagar’s death. It seemed like a completely different world. She said she loved him. He was the best child she had ever looked after. “I had such high hopes for him” she said, “always well mannered with a mischievous smile. He got on with everyone.” We wept holding hands.

We remembered the time when he would religiously have chicken noodles in her house every time he spent an evening there. He would keep mum about the dinner he had already eaten at home. We discovered his trick a few months in but let him get away with it. We laughed holding hands.

He lives in both our hearts forever.

I wonder if being well mannered and well dressed, having a firm hand-shake and making good eye-contact, asking intelligent questions and speaking well, being from a stable and educated family, automatically puts someone in the ‘low-risk’ for suicide category in the eyes of the health professionals.

No one but no one is immune.

 

Day 754

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Life is stranger than fiction. 16 years ago Saagar came to live in Belfast. Today I attended a Suicide Prevention conference entitled ‘What works? Speaking Truth to Power.’ in Belfast.

It was encouraging to see more than 250 people in the audience – counsellors and other frontline staff, police, GPs, policy makers, funders and voluntary groups. I met other bereaved parents and activists passionately working towards improving mental health services within the NHS and in the voluntary sector. It was inspiring. It gave me hope.

I shared Saagar’s story and the lessons that could be learnt from it. They listened. Afterwards, many came up for a hand-shake, a quick chat and a hug. One lady said, “I have been a psychologist for 12 years. Thank you for reminding me why I chose to be one.”

John Steinbeck, the American novelist once asked his long-time friend, the second Secretary General of the UN, Hammarskjold what he could do to support him and the UN. ‘Sit on the ground and talk to people. That’s the most important thing’ said Hammarskjold.

The longest journey starts with a single step which is to engage in conversation with people in our immediate environment, the place where we have set down the anchor of our lives and to take concerted action with them. The significance of dialogue lies in the process, in sharing thoughts and taking pleasure in each other’s company. This allows each individual to find meaning and feel like a valuable part of a community.

 

Day 753

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Standing in the queue at the airport, waiting to board the plane to Belfast, listening to people speak in the norn-irish accent brought back a flood of mixed feelings – nostalgia, heart-warming familiarity, sweet self depricating humour, anger at the bullying that Saagar would have suffered in primary school in the same accent, relief at not having to hear that accent too often, a deep sense of loss at the thought of the mimicry that Saagar often did in an exaggerated accent saying “I’ll do yur windies in.”

On the plane it was a refreshing change when the gentleman sitting next to me actually wanted to speak to me. He was warm and friendly and told me all about his job and family and asked me about mine. I decided to pretend that Saagar was alive and I did. The kind man said, ”So, he has a twinkle in his eye for his wee Mum.” I smiled. For a few moments I believed it myself. It felt good.

Nothing is all good or all bad. No one is all good or all bad. We are a miniature version of the macrocosm. Opposite values and contradictions reside in each of us, finding expression at different times in different ways. Being aware of them is all I can do. Observing myself. Learning.

 

 

 

 

 

Day 752

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“This weekend I am going for a girl’s night out” said I.
“You are not a girl” Saagar responded with amusement.
“I want you to remember that even when I am 85 years old, I will still be a girl.”

Yet, I lost that girl. I became a grieving mother. Nothing more.

2 months ago I took my Mum to a hobby craft shop. I thought she would love seeing all the pretty things in there as she is creative and full of great ideas. But it was me. It turned out to be a treasure trove for me. I was completely sucked into the rows of lovely stickers, stationery, buttons, pens and ribbons. I wasn’t sure what I would do with them but I couldn’t help bringing a few things home.

One Sunday morning I took them all out and displayed them on the kitchen table. After looking at my loot for a while some ideas started taking shape and I made a few birthday cards, thank you notes, messages of sympathy, blank notes with some art work, nothing-in-particular cards and so on. I was on a roll. I found that girl!

Now I know where she’s been hiding. I’ll be keeping track of her. She’s fun!

 

Day 751

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Shaving of heads is an age-old tradition in India. Some hindu families tonsure kids at about 1 year of age. It is believed to liberate them from the ties of their previous life. It is also felt that the new growth of hair is healthier and thicker than the old one.

Tonsuring is an act of surrender. It also means giving up one’s vanity. It can be a sign of mourning in some southern states in India. Father’s soul can find peace after death if his son shaves his head. Shaving is a way of raising funds for charity and for showing solidarity with a cause, such as free Tibet.

Saagar had beautiful soft curls. They were shaved when he was a toddler. It was a shock to him but it helped him cope with the hot summer. When he visited Uganda for charity work at 18 years of age he shaved his head again. This time it was a shock to me. I thought it was a big step for a teenager, especially one who angled his head and checked out his hair each time he purposefully or accidentally came face to face with a mirror. He was very much his own man, my boy!