August has always been so fulfilling and joyous for me because, to each person, their birth month is particular. By the end of July, my excitement would soar about turning a year older and anticipating all the celebrations that would take me through the day. That was until I turned twenty-five. Then, it dawned upon me that childhood and its naiveness must peel out its layers. For the last five years, I have barely felt any excitement about my birthday, at least not on that day. And then, precisely two years ago, I spent nearly 20 days of my supposedly favourite month in the hospital ICU tending to my ailing father.

With a strong memory of each day I spent walking through that door, even at non-visitor hours, August just started piercing more and more. I remember my birthday with the darkest thoughts coming over me, when I went with evening soup for him and the electricity went off. As the fire alarm beeped every three seconds, I felt trapped inside, already imagining the worst. Back then, my phone had beeped with yet another text, “Happy Birthday, have a great one,” that snapped me out of that dark hole. The lights were
back on 10 minutes later, but I still felt blinded by where my thoughts had led me.

My father had spoken two sentences to me that day. Of course, he did not remember it was my birthday after a brain hemorrhage, and I did not feel the need to remind him. He asked about the doctor’s visit before the heavy medication dozed him off. So, his last birthday wish was technically three years ago. August, which gave me some of my happiest memories of friendship day and birthday celebrations, also took my strength away.

This month, this year marks my father’s second death anniversary. These two years went by without seeing him, hearing his voice, receiving his texts, or fighting with him have whizzed past, but not without leaving me lonely for many days. It is interesting how grief has such a strong hold over you that it can really shake up the fond, happy memories of almost 30 years you shared to take place as a stinging replacement.

Grief doesn’t take time to settle in. It just arrives and stays with you. It almost becomes a part of your emotions; it sits behind on most days. But on days when you feel low, it comes forward to take you to a phase where you have been sadder. All it needs is a minute trigger of your negative mind space, and it instantly offers an unwanted company. The real struggle is now navigating your way out from your initial trigger and unlatching the grief alongside.

Things going bad at work, having a fight with your spouse, messing something up, and your grief starts convincing you – that this could have been avoided had the person you lost been alongside you. Your logical mind knows this is your mind playing with you, and you let it. You start missing them, the tears flow, and you wonder how they persuaded you today. This is especially true in the case of losing parents.

One thing I’ve learned with my ways of dealing with grief is that you won’t always have the support you thought you would. And on most days, it is YOUR battle. And alone.

The loss is personal, so you should find your shield to protect it from forbearing it on others. Because others may or may not have had their grief encounters yet, their convincing attempts with, “Whatever happened, happened for good,” “He was suffering, it was what he wanted to,” “Stop crying over it, he won’t like it” and so on feel so lackluster and sick.

It has been two years, and people expect things to improve for me. It can make the bearer feel they are falling behind because it has been ‘x’ number of ‘years.’ I know they are, but it is my road to progress, and you cannot measure it in the bulk of 365 days.

The absence of the person does not feel physical but emotional. The loneliness intensifies before it starts lessening. Your grief has got you on a new terrain, and you must walk the path back, leaving the suffering aside and retaking the lonely road. This differs from the road you have been on; it comes with ridges, downward slopes, and upward trails. This is no less than a trek of emotions.

August – I remember most days that were spent speaking to doctors, running around for test results, seeking second/third opinions, having hard conversations with other family members, and the exhaustion of being the first bearer of the eventual bad news to come. I also remember wearing party hats, dressing special, cutting cakes, smiling through pictures, and leaning to seek my parents’ blessings, only to be held by my father midway and hugged.

He would say, “My blessings are always with you.” This rings true as he now blesses me from his abode above. Grief will make you walk this lonely road because you are supposed to be here alone. Only you can take your road to recovery back.

——

Writer by day, an overthinker by night. I let my thoughts flow through my writing. As a definite misfit, I let my words speak louder than my actions. Welcome to my journey of sailing through emotions and experiences, with words as my paddles.

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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.

——

Writer by day, an overthinker by night. I let my thoughts flow through my writing. As a definite misfit, I let my words speak louder than my actions. Welcome to my journey of sailing through emotions and experiences, with words as my paddles.

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I started understanding grief and realised the different stages of grieving after losing someone from my immediate family. But that did not mean I had not grieved before.

Growing up as a pet-owning family, we raised over eight dogs. The death of every pet we had over the years made me feel lost and angry. I could understand it better because people around me did not seem so affected, and I had to keep up. When you lose a person, you find a lot of support from family and friends, but if you lose a pet, people, unfortunately, do not know what it is. They even quip, So what? It was going to die someday! It was very matter-of-factly presented to me that pets do not live forever and have a shorter life span than humans.

I recall losing my first dog when I was a 14-year-old. I cried. But a few days later, it was my then-best friend’s birthday, so I even forgot about my grief. As another dog entered my life, my love for it grew stronger and stronger. I did not realise that someday I would bid goodbye to this one too. And I did. The cycle continued with six more pets, and I somehow overcame it. Some days, I would cry to bed, looking at their old photos and wishing how tall they had grown today. But I knew that as my parents grew older, I would not have been able to take care of everything with work all by myself.

It was until my last dog, who lived her whole life of 13 years with us, chose to depart at the same time that my father was admitted for the final time to the hospital. Our hopes were vanishing, and her death felt like she was preparing us for what was coming next. Coming to
terms with her did not feel right because she managed to take her Master (my father) precisely a week later.

The loss of a pet is so undermined that grieving for it feels weird. Since not every second person is a pet owner, they do not understand the attachment you share with a non-human. About a decade ago, having pets meant privilege in some families. Not everybody was comfortable with the idea that a dog is your family. Thankfully, that has changed for good. So when a pet passed away, the kind of treatment meted out was like, Sorry for your loss; it will happen someday.

In such situations, acceptance comes naturally, even if you want to resist it. However, the lows post losing a pet are more profound and longer because few people understand your feelings. If someone cannot relate to your situation, they cannot console you. The loss of a pet is thus more of a lone battle. You miss their presence around. You look at their chewy toy and wonder if you throw it, will they somehow come back to fetch it? You want to hear their sound but need help to. When I was growing up, I did not have a lot of photos of my pets to look back at. Phones with cameras did not exist.

Thankfully, in current times, you will have many memories occupying the space on your smartphones. You can always look back on them. You have funny videos of their tactics and some doing nothing at all. It all sparks such joy until you realise it is only what you have left of them.

Grieving a pet is very similar to grieving a person. The stages and the feelings do not discriminate if it is an animal or a human. There is nothing to be ashamed of it. But, unfortunately, today, not all relationships can help you develop that sense of trust, comfort, and loyalty you can experience with a pet.

There is enough research to prove how pets help people’s mental well-being by keeping them in a comfortable, upbeat mood. So when you do not have them around anymore, it is bound to trigger intense reactions of sadness.

One thing that can help you move forward is keeping people from telling you how to feel about it. It was just a cat/dog. You can get a new one is the most dismissive approach that can come your way. We are now a society that is more accepting of pets as family members and have thus progressed to sharing the loss with comfort.

Today, I do not own a pet, but I still have a particular attachment to pets on social media. So I watch these dog and cat videos whenever I force myself to smile.

Back of my mind, what if I see a sombre post from their owner about their demise? I am going to cry again, too, probably. But this time, I will be reminded of grief and why it is valid to feel it – for a human or a four-legged creature. To all my beloved pets I have lost over the years – we have a sticker over the kitchen wall and named the birds after my dogs. It again may sound silly to many, but you know what? It gives me a little comfort to have it around.

——

Writer by day, an overthinker by night. I let my thoughts flow through my writing. As a definite misfit, I let my words speak louder than my actions. Welcome to my journey of sailing through emotions and experiences, with words as my paddles.

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On Head and In Life

I went shopping for a handbag the other day in an all-in-one store, and while I passed the cosmetic section, the lady said, “Ma’am, any makeup?” I nodded a No (not the Indian nod, the proper nod for a No), and as I walked ahead, she quipped, “Ma’am, any mehndi-based natural colour for your hair?” I didn’t feel the need to acknowledge her and walked straight ahead to the bags section. I wish I could have retorted, “No, I love how it is!”

Growing up as girls, we tend to look in the mirror far more often, every time conscious of our looks, at least a bit, if not wholly. So when the first strand of grey hair appears, we silently curse or instinctively pluck it. But then the not-so-golden words of a distant aunt start ringing in, “The more you pluck your grey hair, the more will appear.” And guess what? They do!

No one discusses the problematic narrative of how ladies at the parlour give unsolicited advice about one’s skin and hair. Why can’t you do my eyebrows and let me go instead of going on and on about my blackhead and tanned skin? Please don’t try to sell me your organic facial and natural hair serums. I am right now just trying to keep my eyebrows in one consistent shape.

Unasked opinions often fuel our biggest insecurities about body image, skin tan, and thinning hair. Body positivity and changing beauty standards are active conversations on social media, but they do not reach the grass root levels of what begins them. Being kind customers, we politely ignore the comments from the parlour lady. We do not try explaining to them that these statements could play along in the mind when you have walked past the door. You return home and look in the mirror, closely observing your blackheads, wondering if you should have just finished the facial. You should have booked an appointment for a mehndi application too.

Grey hair has been stigmatised, especially in our country, as you’re becoming old! However, it’s another reason for stress if you are in your mid-20s and have grey hair. “You are not even 40. What tension do you have?” the questions come in every time you meet someone who can see your prominent greys.

The core of this problem is the sheer negligence of understanding that lifestyles have changed, hormones are acting up, and hair turning grey is entirely natural and based on one’s genetic makeup! No amount of applying dyes and root touch-ups could alter that.

Today, I have a lot of grey hair, but I, too, had my share of insecurities with them, trying to hide them under the crown, changing my partition, and so on. As a result, I coloured them just once, a couple of years ago, when I was to be a bride. But I am happy to report that a few pictures from my wedding still show my grey hair, but my smile is the brightest.

Even today, when I visit the local parlour, the lady asks me, “Don’t you do anything to your hair?” I quip, “Because I learned that acceptance is cheaper than repeated hair treatments.” But I am lucky enough to have a hairdresser who, on my first visit, told me, your greys and hair texture are beautiful. You should rock it! Along with busting a few myths about greying hair, I walked out of the salon with confidence that greys are fashionable. People out there pay to get their hair done grey, and I am transforming it for free.

When we learn our lessons through life, we know it cannot be painted in black and white alone. We all have moments of greys, where some good and not-so-good things coexist. If we try to compartmentalise everything into set structures, then how are we different from the archaic norms?

We all adapt to accept the grey moments in our life, so how about we become more accepting
towards grey hair too? This recent tweet I read about greying hair has stuck with me as a solace of acceptance:

It is ultimately the comfort of knowing that I am embracing the natural which empowers me every time I see a new grey on my head. If you are someone who has been hiding them for too long, it may be time to show off a bit. We have been behind makeup foundations and facials for a while. So let’s let our hair be loose and grey.

——

Writer by day, an overthinker by night. I let my thoughts flow through my writing. As a definite misfit, I let my words speak louder than my actions. Welcome to my journey of sailing through emotions and experiences, with words as my paddles.

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Very few of us are accustomed to living a lone life. We have had someone/somebody to be with from the day we were born. That is why everyone looks for companionship, even if some fear commitments. It need not always be a partner; it could be a child for a single parent, a caretaker for an orphan, or a pet for an elderly person. The dynamics of the relationship vary for each individual, but it is always some person we look forward to spending our lives with. But what happens when they are no more? It takes away the will to survive and fight your battles alone. The guilt of you being able to breathe while the other person is taken away starts pounding the questions of “why me?” Survivors’ guilt is a typical response to the grieving process. 

What exactly is survivor’s guilt? Survivor’s guilt is the feeling of inadequateness and guilt experienced after a loss in a traumatic situation. The situation could be a natural disaster, an accident, a medical complication, or any situation that caused the death of a loved one. As a result, the survivor starts feeling unworthy of living and continuing with their life. 

As a survivor after my father’s demise, I did not have survivor guilt because I am starting my own family. Yes, I feel guilty about everything I could have done for my father when he was sick. However, my mother, at some point, could be feeling the guilt of carrying on with her life, which was earlier and for years moulded to suit the comforts of her husband. 

You are bound to feel lost if you have lost both your parents, or your partner met an untimely death. To be frustrated at that loss reflects in your life. You stop believing in the miracles of God, you don’t eat the same portions of food, and you don’t feel like doing anything. It all feels meaningless because now, who are you supposed to do things for? Who do you come back home to? Whom do you hug when you feel low? Who do you goof around with? The simple and complicated questions pile on…

You feel tired, physically and emotionally drained. Your mind is desperate to get away from this all. You feel the loss in your body and soul. But who will understand it, like your loved one, which is no more? Yes, some squeeze your shoulder and say they’re here for you, but they are not the shoulder you want to lean on forever. So you start feeling lonely, even when others surround you. This is because the innate connection we develop with our parents, siblings, or partner goes so deep that it is irreplaceable. You have shaped your life through them, and the loss, whether expected or sudden, leaves you in the wind. 

The guilt starts shaping up, and for some reason, we always believe that when we die, we will meet them up in heaven or down the hell hole. How are we humans conditioned to imagine forever and ever, even after death separates us? So we seep in guilt until we are hopeful to meet them again. The combination of loss with regret is overwhelming. 

Compared to the lone survivors, I haven’t experienced a loss so grave. But what I have learned with my family is how we remember the dead. It gives a different perspective on how we get back to normal. Feeling guilty is not the problem. It is common. But we are not ready to acknowledge our feelings, making them difficult to process. 

It is obvious to miss the departed person in your highs and lows. But why don’t we look at how they’d have been proud or comforted us had they been with us? Whatever little life we have left, why don’t we dedicate it to our happy moments together? Healing is not only about crying when you feel low but also about learning to hold back your tears and remember the happy smiles instead. 

Suppose you can do it once, twice, and repeatedly. You are no more guilty about surviving. You will gradually be responsible for your survivor strength. Your role in society is now altered to fill in the gap of the person who has left. It would help if you filled in this void, not for the community, but for yourself – to hold yourself back up. I know you can. 

The first step is channeling a survivor’s ‘guilt’ into the survivor’s ‘strength,’ and the rest should follow. Your parents/spouse trusts you; only you can care for yourself. And for them, you should. Death has not done us apart, and it has made you stronger. 

——

Writer by day, an overthinker by night. I let my thoughts flow through my writing. As a definite misfit, I let my words speak louder than my actions. Welcome to my journey of sailing through emotions and experiences, with words as my paddles.

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When you want to get away from everything transpiring in your immediate surroundings, the best getaway is getting lost in your phone. Scrolling reels at low volume can mute the chaos of conversations around. That is what I was doing when I received a notification about a message from my father. It read, “Hi,” and about 10 seconds later, attached came a photo. Reading it from the notification bar made me so happy that I almost forgot that he was no longer in this world.

I felt like calling the number right away and asking him where has he been and when is he returning. But as soon as I opened the photo, the excitement was crushed. It was the insurance claim document that I was supposed to mail for the other formalities in order. My mother found it convenient to forward it to me from my dad’s phone. And here I was, not realizing that the conversation with this number had ended. I wonder what my mother was thinking when she typed hi !

Within that 10-second gap between the first and second messages, my trail of thoughts had begun. I had prepared a list of questions to ask my father, even formulating his casual responses to my intervention. An intervention that was never going to happen. All it took was 10 seconds, but the conversation in my head seemed ten detailed minutes long. When you lose someone, you think of many things you could have said to them to comfort them or yourself more.

This message opened so many possibilities to a question I posed myself, “What if I could have one phone call with him?” On other days, I am not very vocal on phone calls, but knowing that this would be the last one, I would want it to go on much longer. This call would go on to blabber things I could never say and seek forgiveness for things I should’ve never said.

Experiencing a loss gives you a perspective on the world and a lot about yourself. Especially if you have never experienced a heavy loss before, it is a ride through a tumult of emotions. These are not just sad and miserable feelings but even bouts of anger on how things could have been different. Of how you could do nothing to save them, although you may have tried everything possible. Could you have should have tried harder?

The two years of the pandemic have seen a grief wave. For those who lost someone to COVID-19, I feel you too. The anger and pain you feel are a lot deeper. Because you probably did not even get the chance to say the last goodbye, feel the touch, or see them one last time. All of this was for the greater good of keeping you and others around you safe. The pinching feeling of not being able to conduct the last rites on them may sometimes keep you wide awake at night. It can get traumatic. It is a situation that hasn’t got a closure. You need to be truly appreciated for how far you have come. If you are reading this far, find this a comforting hug from someone who does not precisely understand what you feel but knows what loss is.

The loss slowly seeps within as you start getting back into a routine. Several people are asking you to distract yourself, get busy, etc. Although they all mean well, give yourself time to be upset. Pent-up emotions barely do any good. Unresolved grief can bring on more grave mental health problems. So wallow, but don’t swallow your feelings, especially the negative ones.

It took one message from my late father’s number to put me in a state of denial. After that, I started to reject the reality of his demise. I held conversations with him that I could never have. I sometimes, to date, think about what, if any, miracle still gives me a chance to communicate with him. What will I say to him, or will I say nothing? I live in these what-ifs, which I can write another essay on.

But to complete this one, I’d frame a reply to that “Hi,” which got me to write this. My response was, “I hope it was painless. Know that we are safe here, and until we meet again, I will meet you in my memories, and together we will live along!”

——

Writer by day, an overthinker by night. I let my thoughts flow through my writing. As a definite misfit, I let my words speak louder than my actions. Welcome to my journey of sailing through emotions and experiences, with words as my paddles.

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