Every one of us has one dear memory of our favorite summer vacations. For some, it’s the beach; for some, within the mountains; for others, it’s just running around in the courtyard of their humble native homes. Summer vacations are the first trips we take with our family, with no worries about itineraries because they have mapped the routes, distances, accommodations, and everything. You craft memories, you have captured some on a film camera, you look them up once in a while and relive the good old days. But, then, years pass; you all grow up, you lose some family members, and things are not the same again.

My favorite summer days have been spent exploring the beaches in our native town with my late father. The connections he made with the locals here over the years transformed into thicker-than-blood relatives. From special course meals to trips into the sea, we enjoyed the ‘privileges’ of his ability to form such special bonds. We don’t own a native home, but we have people here who make us feel we are home. He almost had a distant family here, which took care of his ailments when he visited solo. Unfortunately, the conditions eventually got the better of him, and he left on his journey.

This May, I took a trip with my family to the same place, knowing that it won’t be easy for us, especially for my mother and me. We have spent some of the best moments here, and knowing that we won’t get to relive it again creates a more bottomless void than we already experience.
But our healing journey needs such prickly moments to make you realize what you had and that you will always hold it dear to you. My mother and I sat by the beach every evening, saying not many words but only narrating to one another the little moments we remember spending here with my father. He was an ardent beach lover who spent hours along the coast. On his last few visits, he would only express sitting by the seaside bench to hear the waves because his vision diminished. In his process to prepare us, he had told my mother, “Let my ashes free into the closest ocean, and I know I will reach where I belong.”

We couldn’t visit here since the pandemic, but when we walked into the same hotel last month, the owners expressed they don’t feel he is gone. Instead, they say he might come and stay with them again. I don’t even have the exact words, but it felt like a reassurance that he is just around somewhere. We ensured we met or at least spoke to all the relations he had formed among the locals, and everyone was happy to see us back. My mother couldn’t stop recalling how they would spend their days here. While I feared she would spiral into the pit of his memories, I realized it gives her happiness to remember him fondly and brings a smile.

Grieving takes different forms, and reminiscing the memories is one of the most common ways. While you may delve into it, you must also hold on to them as your anchor to move forward. If you have lost someone close to you, visit the places you have been with them. It will be challenging but eventually comfort you like an invisible hug. Like how this ocean did to me. You cannot recreate the same memories again, but now you appreciate them as your best time ever.

You can never bring back the dead, but you can always live the way they taught you. My father told me never to be scared of the ocean, to hold my ground with my toes tucked deep into the sand, to fall, rise, and face the water with a smile. But, what he also permeated was a lesson for life.

Grieving gets tougher on some days and simpler on others. On some days, it is both. You cannot even choose a side to it. You must remember that healing is not your journey alone but of those who are just as immediately close to the departed member. Someone has lost their son, someone their husband, someone their father, and someone their best friend. Heal with them, and hold their hand when you visit the places that bring back their memories. It is a rugged closure but refreshing to see them alive in your memories.

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