the now

Day 507

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For the past few months, our house has undergone some major and minor alterations. We moved out for a couple of months and then back again, living out of a suitcase most of the time. Sometimes it has felt like being unwanted guests living in a spare room in our own house, getting in the way of the builders while they want to get on with the work.

Last week they finally left. We got our home back, filled with stacks of boxes, a persistent layer of dust on every available surface and the unmistakable stink of paint. We set today’s date for having a few friends over for a home-cooked Indian meal and having a priest perform a small prayer service to bless the house as is customary.

Saagar’s closest friends came over. One of them, a medical student proudly showed me the picture of his first publication. Another, a budding golfer shared his excitement over his upcoming summer job at one of the best golf courses in California. Another, an amateur actress spoke at length about the series of theatre workshops she conducted last summer as part of the Rickshaw Theatre Project for kids in India and how amazing that was, having known Saagar and his pride in his heritage.

Its silly to say I missed Saagar. Of course I did but I feel him in my heart all the time. I see him in all his friends, in their proud achievements and simple joys. When all of us who love him dearly are together, he can’t be too far away. In his own words, he is a bit of a (cha)party animal after all. Love you darling. xxx

Day 503

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This cage of grief I find myself in has a door. I can see it. It is wide open. It invites me to step outside. Sometimes I am tempted to venture out even though I am not sure what lies outside. May be there is no outside. Maybe the cage is an extension of me. It is there because of me. I have built it with my memories, longing, tears and love. I sit comfortably cocooned in it. It is my natural habitat. Would I rather be elsewhere? It’s restful in here. Leaving it would be a betrayal of myself. Of Saagar. Even if he wouldn’t have wanted it for me.
Every now and then I do metaphorically peep out of the window and enjoy the world of clothes, make-up, hair and such like but it is tiresome. My cage allows me to clearly see the cages that surround others. I am ‘happy’ within these confines. Here I experience deep silence and connectedness with myself. This must be a special kind of freedom. As for grief, it does not end. Not at that door, nor at the end of the Earth. It morphs into various shapes, shades and hues. It can be a beautiful piece of music at one time and the gentle warm sunshine at another. It envelops me wherever I am. I have learnt to smile and shine through it. It is not an adversary. On the contrary, it keeps me strong and grounded. This could be a life-long companion. I welcome it.

Day 502

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I am alive.
I am alive because of my cats.
I am alive because I connect.
I am alive because of talking, laughing, crying and sharing.
I am alive because inside of me there is a seed of hope.
I am alive because I can make a difference.
I am alive because I know I am loved even if I don’t always feel it.
I am alive today because I remembered the feeling would pass.
I am alive because some people realise how difficult it is for me to be here.
I am alive because I am moved by music and stories.
I am alive because I am open to whatever the universe might bring.
I am alive because someone told me it would matter to them if I died.
I am alive because someone knew how to talk to me about suicide.
I am alive because I take responsibility.
I am alive because I love.
I am alive because I can see that in a strange way life is still beautiful.

Day 501

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Ikebana is the ancient Japanese art of flower arranging in practice for the last 600 years. It developed from the Buddhist ritual of offering flowers to the spirits of the dead. By the middle of the fifteenth century, with the emergence of the first classical styles, ikebana achieved the status of an art form independent of its religious origins, though it continued to retain strong symbolic and philosophical overtones.

In 2012 Saagar left home for university, about 5 hours away. I missed him so much that I avoided coming home in the evenings. After attending an Ikebana exhibition and a few demonstrations, I was enamoured by the beauty and creativity in those arrangements. I started taking lessons in Ikebana once a week. The classes were held in the evening. They brought me close to the smells and textures of various kinds of fresh flowers and foliage. I learnt some lovely musical names like Lisianthus and Zantedeschia. I also learnt to match them with their faces. I could now appreciate the depth of the redness of dogwood and the palpable tenderness of rose buds. It was a whole new world of shapes, materials, colours, techniques, spaces and movements. It was meditative in its own serene way. A couple of hours went by in the blink of an eye.

After a gap of nearly 18 months, I restarted the lessons last week. It is heart warming to be reunited with old friends.

 

 

 

Day 499

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499 days!

That’s how long it’s been since our son Saagar left us. Apparently he left by choice. What sort of choice? I don’t know. I never will.
How did he get to that point?
How did we get through all these days and months without him?
I have no clue.

Life has been cleaved mercilessly into – ‘before’ and ‘after’. How can this unthinkable, unimaginable happening be for real?
That gorgeous naughty smile, that kind and generous heart – how can it just disappear?

The mind constantly goes back to ‘before’ and re-arranges events in order to eliminate the ‘after’. But we are here – in the ‘after’ which feels like a tiny cage of barbed wire. Sitting here rudderless and alone, I am lost. I am not alone in the sense of being without people who love me but I am the only person who is his mother. I am lost without him. None of this makes any sense. This is not how it is supposed to be. It is not in the script.

Now what?
His drum kit, cricket bat, books, t-shirts, shorts and trainers are still here. I am still here.
In a way, he is here.
In our smiles and tears.
In the hearts of all those who love him.

Love.

Although my mind has doubted it, my heart knows it to be eternal and pure.
Like a river that starts as a glacier and ends as the ocean, love changes and flows.
When I want to see Saagar, I close my eyes and be with our love. The light of love comes through the barbed wire cage. In this light I can see the grief, guilt and anger as nothing but distortions of love. Just like white light is not a colour but the sum of all possible colours, love encompasses everything. If there were no love, there would be no sorrow. They are reflections of each other.
While engulfed in darkness, I see the light of love and hang on to it. It is my anchor in this choppy sea. I can depend on it. Like a night traveller navigating her way through the dark, love is my north star. I can trust it to always find me.
It is the light of love that has got us through the past 499 days.

As Rumi says – The wound is the place where the light enters you.