3650 days on

 It's been a decade gone by, difficult to believe

As I look back at memories of this time that year

I find compassion for that younger me floundering from loss

I wish I could just reach out and tell her, it’ll be ok.

 

I see her torn in two – wanting the end and yet hating the end

Wanting Mums presence and yet wanting her gone

Being selfish and yet struggling to be selfless in love

Weeping inwardly and yet struggling to be strong.

 

I wish I could have told her its fine to be both

Each has its place and a journey in time, to go with the flow

I wish I could tell her that her journey will make her strong

That the difficult act of ‘letting go’ will define her life hereon.

 

A decade ago, I see the younger me shattered

I wish I could have told her just how resilient she’ll become

That the best thing she ever did was to walk through her grief

That it would never be easy, but she’d get through day by day.

 

I see that younger me struggling to feel that Mum lives in her heart

I wish I could tell her that it’s not a feeling to be forced

Neither is it an image of Mum which fades from the mind   

But that Mum lives on through her every word and all that she does.

 

I see my younger self promising Mum that she’d take care of Dad

I see her praying that she’d be there for Dad’s end the way she wasn’t for Mum

And I see her wondering if she’ll ever be strong for that

I wish I could have told her, that she did both with strength, to believe.

 

A decade seems a lifetime at times

Of experiences and learnings through highs and lows

That everything has a time, a purpose, and all will be well.

I remember to hug and tell myself now with a tear in my eye

I did well then, I am well, I will be well.

       

       - Ann Joseph

  In loving memory of Mummy, the journey of a decade after writing “An ode to my mother”

-        

        

-   -  PS: This easter lily flower is from a plant given by Mummy. She loved her plants.

Moving on...

Today is 1^st May 2022. It’s been a year since my beloved father went to his heavenly abode.

Time flies…Time heals. I’ve heard these words – now twice over – at each of my parent’s funerals.  You’ve probably heard them too. Or even spoken of them to someone. Well intentioned. Well-meaning words. The question I'm sometimes asked by people who experience loss is - how does one get to this time and point in space where time appears to have flown and wounds have healed (point B)? The journey from point A to point B, so to say. That is quite a journey. Almost mystical to some, unassailable to others. At times this journey is smooth sailing through calm placid waters; at times its through rocky points which one steers clear of – never to drop anchor; and at other times the rough waves almost threaten to deluge and sink. 

Let me share my journey of this past year with you. 

Buoyancy: 

My first feeling was that of relief. In the immediate aftermath of Dad’s passing away. Relief that his suffering was over. Relief that he had now moved on to a better place. Relief that the uncertainty was over. Relief that my caregiving days for him were done with. Much as I considered it a privilege to have taken care of him in his last months and moments, it was difficult. Physically and emotionally. So, there now was relief.

Along with the relief was a feeling of dissociation. Some call it numbness. I differ. It was a stepping aside of myself from myself, while I saw myself doing what needed to be done in the hours and days that followed – makes sense? This brought in its wake, a deep abiding calm. Not a tremor in my hands, not a tear, not a break in my voice. While I observed it all. With that calmness was a deeper certainty that I was being guided through it all. By a higher power. That God had a place and time for everything and a means for it too. That observer in me, seemed to know when to let go and experience the loss, to shed the tear, to remember, to hold on, to reach out. And I did.

Awash:

I found solace in talking about my father. With relatives, friends. People who called me a few weeks and months later. And patiently listened to me. Like writing, talking about dad’s last few weeks proved cathartic for me. And I found myself remembering. Remembering quiet moments spent with Dad. Remembering how I felt loved by him. And these remembrances happened during quiet early morning walks inside my house (remember it was the peak of covid lockdown), often to the tunes of Enya (I know not why, but after listening to gospel songs in the immediate couple of weeks following the funeral, I found Enya suited my swirling feelings later).

Often these remembrances brought with them, rivulets of tears down my face. And I let them flow. They needed expression. They brought with them a dark sense of loss which appeared to weigh down my soul in that moment. And I let myself experience that darkness, that weight in my chest. I let myself notice the myriad hues of darkness and weight. As my hands and feet moved in tandem and my eyes searched for visual clues that brought memories, my emotions swirled inside. For a while. I also experienced that when I reached its depths, the observer in me let me know and the weight lessened. The black darkness became grey mists, never white…not yet. And through it all, was the certainty that I was on a deep sacred journey. A difficult journey of discovering myself anew. And that I would know when I was done with grieving.    

Anchorage: 

I know not when this happened.  Long periods of not grieving and then suddenly a thought, a word, a visual cue - that brought with it a sudden pang of sadness, while few drops of salt unknowingly found their way to my lips. And at other times, memories brought with them rueful smiles. They existed in tandem – the tears and the smiles. Then more smiles than tears. The darkness eased into lightness. And through this phase came the understanding that its ok to grieve. Even if I’m the odd one out. Even if it’s oftentimes scary. Even if people may say that its time to move on and their timelines do not coincide with mine. Even if the grief is for a parent who has had a good long life. 

I have found that grieving takes courage. Extraordinary courage at times to avoid the easy route of distraction and avoidance. The courage to be vulnerable…to oneself. To find the still small voice of silence…to find meaning… in the depths of grief. Avoidance is easy…giving expression takes courage…going down the slippery slope of grief is an act of faith. Finding toeholds to bolster oneself back up takes greater courage. I have understood that one can 'grieve well'. I have found beauty in its depths, unexpected succor. A deep understanding that I may have just walked through the valley of the shadow of death and found God's healing and comfort.

Moving on is inevitable. The pathway to healing of the grief wounds is different each time…for each person. I now know that time heals, and the healing takes myriad forms. Oftentimes leaving behind scars in its wake. Scars which have beauty. The hallmarks of courage, learning, experience, empathy. These scars feel light enough to fly in time. 

This has been my journey this particular time. We each have our own unique journey...customised for us. 

Yes, Time flies and Time heals…and lets embrace the beautiful scars they leave behind.          

 

     

 

 

   

My learnings from 2021

 As I sit down to write, I take a moment to close my eyes and ponder – Is there one word that would sum up my experience of the year 2021? The word that springs to mind is ‘Resilience’. I pause…take a moment to turn to my trusty Google to check on my understanding of the word. Here it is “the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness”. Circumstances brought that out in me.

The year started with a lot of anticipation and joy. It was to be a landmark year for me personally as I thought I would be reaching the wisdom of my magical ‘50^th’ year. Least did I also expect that this wisdom would arise from the crucible of personal loss.

Confronting my own unconscious bias - A year when, not only did I see a tsunami of loss and despair around me in due to the lethal 2^nd wave of covid, but also during it all, I’d had to grapple with the disbelieving news that my dear father was suffering from a so called “taboo” disease - Pulmonary Tuberculosis. During my younger years, I had only heard of this ailment affecting others – never spoken of in my adulthood. Never spoken of in the circles of my family and friends. Almost as though this disease is not prevalent, despite the prevalence of shadowy remnants of isolation hospitals in town. I later learnt of three known people in my own social & family circle who have recovered from this. We keep quiet. And there lay my first learning – confronting my own unconscious bias.  

From wondering how on earth my father could have contracted this infectious disease especially in a year of not stepping out of the house, to learning from many trusted doctors that it is latent in about 70% Indians, only to surface when the body’s natural immunity falls low. Like it did in my father’s case. Old age and lungs weakened by years of asthma did it for him.

From the initial numbness, I quickly jumped to learn what precautions to take, its prognosis while simultaneously confronting my own fears - for my health and that of my immediate family’s. And learning that in India, the medical protocol is not to test and treat immediate family but treat only active cases, and to tell caregivers to take precautions by wearing a mask etc. That it might not ever affect us if our immunity is good. I also found that I not only had to educate myself on this but also our well-wishers. Because, well, very few know as it’s usually not talked about. What I do know now is that this needs to be diagnosed in time and the prolonged treatment, though tough on the body, be completed for complete recovery. And this can happen to anyone, anytime, even if we are vaccinated, as we all are, should we be immuno compromised. I am reminded of this every time, I read medical advisories on covid, advising patients with 2-3 weeks of persistent coughing to test for tuberculosis.

Developing resilience demanded that I not only faced my own fears of an unknown disease but also ensure that I gave my father love and care so that he did not feel stigmatised by any word or action. Of course, to cut a long story short, there was a domino effect on an already frail body and other more serious ailments came to the fore, leading to his passing away within a short span of a month.

Holding sacred spiritual space – I experienced that being by the side of a loved one as they leave this earthly abode is profound and moving. I was holding a sacred spiritual space – the cusp of the known to the unknown. A connection. A giant leap of faith. With it came a calmness and resilience such as I’d never experienced before. As dad’s soul left for its heavenly abode, I found grace enough to say a prayer and wish him well. A profound stillness, a deep thankfulness to be with him in that moment. To have had him as my father.  I hope I am able to hold this space for others to - at work, in conversations - even as they evolve into new awareness of themselves.   

Grieving well - I’m glad. Yes, I can say that now. Though the cognitive mind at the time took over and told me that its best he did not suffer, the deeper emotional ‘Daddy’s girl’ in me missed his presence. Having lost my mother a decade ago, it now felt as though the umbrella of my parent’s prayers, grace and blessings was lifted from my head.

As I remained physically confined within the 4 walls of my house the next few months due to the covid wave, I took refuge in stillness & contemplation as I slowly worked through my grief. As my husband told dad’s palliative care doctor a few months later, and I know not how I did it, but I had “grieved well”. People grieve, but what is to grieve well? And that’s my second learning – It’s important to grieve well. I learnt that it is not about sobbing and anguish. Though it may be part of the journey for some. For me it was about taking comfort in remembrances – at times in stillness, with gratitude and at times in conversations with loved ones. To remember, let go and let the memories be. At my own pace. There is no right or wrong method, no right or wrong time.

The bird on the tree - I also experienced that God in his infinite mercy sends us little signs of comfort and grace if we but look for them. For me, it was the bird which would sit on the tall tree seen a short distance from my window. A few months before his death, my father had once pointed it out and mentioned that this bird(s) always tends to perch on the frail tallest point of one of the three ‘Ashoka’ trees. It was his favourite way to pass the time – watching nature. I had never noticed them before. A few weeks after of his death, when my heart felt heavy, I looked out the window and there was this little bird, perched on that very same tree. That bird gave me a sense of connection, of comfort, of continuity and hope. And in the immediate weeks and months that followed, whenever I remembered my dad, I looked out for the bird on the tree. I don’t know how but it remained faithfully perched whenever I most needed it be. I rarely see it now. Seasons change and so do needs. Look for the signs. They are all around. If we but stay still, observe, and make meaning of them. Listen to that still inner voice.          

Be prepared to surprise yourself - I had always despaired that I tended to lose focus midway. As I look back on the year gone by, I have found that I surprised myself. I have persisted consistently in certain matters to get sustained results. Persistence crept up on me, particularly in matters of adhering to a healthy lifestyle. This happened when I shifted focus from what I ‘did not want’ to ‘what I wanted’.

Be prepared to be surprised by the generosity of others - This year also brought home to me how much love, strength and support I've received from others - my immediate family, extended family, friends who have become family - you know who you are, friends, neighbours, colleagues, medical fraternity. Be it a call, a text, a listening ear, a word of encouragement, advice, a hug - I am overwhelmed that so many cared enough and more. Not just once, but over time. Resilience was bolstered by love. My heart is full of gratitude! I hope I can give at least some of it back and also pass it on. 

This 50^th year of my life has certainly been a watershed year. Even as I lost my earthly father, I came home to the wisdom of another dimension of myself. Coming home to a sacred space of openness, stillness, resilience, gratitude, hope and comfort. Enough to give of myself to two other close friends who also lost a parent the same year. I’m glad I surprised myself. Here's to 2022 with gratitude and hope!