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| Late M J Thomas Born: 1932 Died: 2021 |
In November 2012, I wrote a poem ('An Ode To My Mother') just before my mother passed away , a catharsis of sorts for me, which left my father very moved and touched. This year, in the weeks and days before my father died two weeks ago, I wanted to write something for him. Even got down to writing a stanza or two, but it went down the drain of the delete button. The timing did not feel right. Till now.
Reflecting now on the experiences of both my parents’ deaths, I realise that the one did not automatically prepare me for the other. Both have been different circumstances totally. While both instances were difficult and draining on the caregivers, a major difference was that the world, as we knew it, had turned topsy turvy in the past year. Caring for a critically ill person at home during a pandemic was no mean task, given the difficulties of getting medical help and support. Add to that the sheer pandemic health related uncertainties of going out on a hospital visit - for both patient and caregiver. Feelings of helplessness prevailed at times when the sheer number of parameters to be monitored for his overall comfort overwhelmed me. Each of these two experiences of the loss of a parent taught me that the feelings, experiences of each grief are unique. And to be open to experiencing them as they unfold, as each bring different learnings.
But between the demises of my parents, one commonality remains. Death is certain, for everybody. Whatever the circumstances. Death is stark, definite, final. Others may be by our side, but the final journey is ours alone. The two most important journeys of life – being born and dying – are experienced alone. Aided by our personal faith. Our faith, hope and beliefs define the facets of this intensely personal last journey. And my parents were prepared. Am I? Are we? As certain as death is, its timing is uncertain -to us. As my father's doctor told him, "While we all will die some day, some time, let us enjoy our lives in the meantime".
As I was experiencing anticipatory grief, before my father’s death, I remember asking myself this question - With the grim visuals of lit funeral pyres, and newspaper statistics on young, unexpected covid related deaths spiralling in the country, do I have a right to grieve for my father? After all he has lived a relatively good life to the ripe old age of 88, in relatively good health. In fact, someone close to me did say something to this effect to me. I deliberated, talked to palliative care professionals and the answer came within me – Yes, I do. A loss is a loss and its ok to grieve. It is not dependent on age, circumstances, cause or the unexpectedness of death. Grief is intensely personal. It does not preclude or compare with another’s grief. And a parent is a parent, whatever one’s age. So, I gave myself permission to grieve. And in grieving, I empathised not only with my father but for also the numerous deaths that are happening around. In grieving even when he was alive (during the last few weeks of his life), I found that I could cherish every single moment I had with him. I strove to take snapshots in my memory and on video, of fleeting experiences that I would cherish. Every moment stretched and expanded in the personal timeline of my experience. I breathed in his being – his strength, beliefs, faith, perseverance, discipline and love.
In the very act of preparing myself to let go of him, I
found myself becoming strong. Not for him, but for myself. Because I knew I
wanted to be there with him in his last moments, the way I had heard he was
there for my mother at her last. And I hope I was. Strong, composed and in the moment.
Privileged to sit by his side and glimpse the journey he made to the heavenly
world. That last slow breath as he gave up a life valiantly fought, is
something I will remember to my end. I will remember not in grief, but in
gratitude. Overwhelming gratitude for the life that was Dad’s. For being
fortunate to have been his daughter.
As I continue to ponder the life that was my father, some key
attributes some to mind. I write here of things left unsaid by me at his online
memorial (M J Thomas - Memorial Service).
1. Love – is a verb I associate with my father. Understated, yet persistent. When I was 15 years old, he told me – “I want you to remember me for my hugs and kisses”. And I do. He toned down his hugs as I grew older, but I sensed the love, nevertheless. It was there in every expression, action, and word. Not only to me. But to others. In connecting with others. And giving space when required. In letting others be. He was master of that. I cannot remember him hurting anyone with deliberate words or actions. Among his last words of advice to me was to “Love everyone". I had hoped he felt my love for him in his final few weeks and my heart was uplifted when he softly told me one day towards the end "You are marvellous. You are taking care of the house and of me very well.” To live my life in love – I hope I can reach at least a tenth of how he did. As a verb…doing…living it.
Let us create memories of sharing, caring and love.
Memories remain when the soul is long gone. They live on in our hearts.
They are enough. As we are. Let's be kind and patient to ourselves.
P.S. I can now say to him in my heart: "Daddy, you have always insisted that I print out my key blogposts for you to read and appreciate. You loved recording events. This one is for you. With much love from a daughter to her loving father. Till we meet again. I hope you enjoy reading this from above. ".
Remembering a couple of hymns he loved so much...
