May 25th, Wednesday.
I love living here for many reasons which I wont go into now. but how useless I feel is when someone back home passes away. Its the dreaded phone call and the silence and the not knowing what to tell them. Then the tears and then eventually you calm down. The memories are then slow creepers but they are mostly happy memories punctured in between with thought of a return- to a house empty of the person. One does not get used to that quickly because one has not been there. And so its possible then that when you walk into that, more or less the same house, you expect them. To walk out from the bathroom, eyes straining with age and ailments. Light shining in those old droopy eyes, perking up at the sight of your face. One waits for them on the verandha to bring out hot milk and coax you into drinking it despite your protests.
What else is there to do, Except wait endlessly. Some of these deaths never leave you, their kind are the devastating kind. They come with the what if's and only if and if only and pangs of terrible doubt and guilt. Things that never leave you. These deaths also called suicides, they never let you forget. The person in question, their lives and motives analysed forever and ever while you shed your tears into tired pillows.
what good are these tears- you constantly ask. What good are you, you who never helped in any way. what good are any of you and then once you calm down you need to go back to the art of living and shamelessly, almost deviously, you attempt to negotiate with yourself.
what could you have done. you were young, You had no money, your parents had no money.
That small nagging feeling does not help, it tells you clearly, shouts at you that there is something. Where can you hide knowing you can never tell anyone. You can never blog about it and let the readers purge you from your shame. Even if its anonymously you have confessed and all you need to do is wait it out. It never ends till perhaps you are dead too, with you till your fire you carry these burdens,this perhaps is a befitting punishment. Though there must be more, you tell yourself. There has to be more ways to punish yourself.
There are stars. Many many stars who you believe are the people who left early. There is a little kid there, a grandmother and some others who you perhaps didnt know too well. but they are all there. When you escape an accident unscathed or you are saved from something by just a second you look up and say your silent thanks, for looking out for me. Do you deserve it? No, you know, you dont. And yet you act like you do. Let the tears never end. Let every tear remind you.
A's granduncle, passed away tonight. He led a full and mostly happy life. He is that one point for all of them, my mother-in-law, amma having lost her parents early. I wish I was back home with her, there isnt much I can do but just be there for her and hold her. These are times when all the charms on offer seem not worth. it. It is after all only a small short life we live. where is time for everything. one must regret, live and wait for death. There is never enough time.
I love living here for many reasons which I wont go into now. but how useless I feel is when someone back home passes away. Its the dreaded phone call and the silence and the not knowing what to tell them. Then the tears and then eventually you calm down. The memories are then slow creepers but they are mostly happy memories punctured in between with thought of a return- to a house empty of the person. One does not get used to that quickly because one has not been there. And so its possible then that when you walk into that, more or less the same house, you expect them. To walk out from the bathroom, eyes straining with age and ailments. Light shining in those old droopy eyes, perking up at the sight of your face. One waits for them on the verandha to bring out hot milk and coax you into drinking it despite your protests.
What else is there to do, Except wait endlessly. Some of these deaths never leave you, their kind are the devastating kind. They come with the what if's and only if and if only and pangs of terrible doubt and guilt. Things that never leave you. These deaths also called suicides, they never let you forget. The person in question, their lives and motives analysed forever and ever while you shed your tears into tired pillows.
what good are these tears- you constantly ask. What good are you, you who never helped in any way. what good are any of you and then once you calm down you need to go back to the art of living and shamelessly, almost deviously, you attempt to negotiate with yourself.
what could you have done. you were young, You had no money, your parents had no money.
That small nagging feeling does not help, it tells you clearly, shouts at you that there is something. Where can you hide knowing you can never tell anyone. You can never blog about it and let the readers purge you from your shame. Even if its anonymously you have confessed and all you need to do is wait it out. It never ends till perhaps you are dead too, with you till your fire you carry these burdens,this perhaps is a befitting punishment. Though there must be more, you tell yourself. There has to be more ways to punish yourself.
There are stars. Many many stars who you believe are the people who left early. There is a little kid there, a grandmother and some others who you perhaps didnt know too well. but they are all there. When you escape an accident unscathed or you are saved from something by just a second you look up and say your silent thanks, for looking out for me. Do you deserve it? No, you know, you dont. And yet you act like you do. Let the tears never end. Let every tear remind you.
A's granduncle, passed away tonight. He led a full and mostly happy life. He is that one point for all of them, my mother-in-law, amma having lost her parents early. I wish I was back home with her, there isnt much I can do but just be there for her and hold her. These are times when all the charms on offer seem not worth. it. It is after all only a small short life we live. where is time for everything. one must regret, live and wait for death. There is never enough time.
3 comments:
It's never easy. I dread whenever the phone rings. This too shall past..Hope you feel better sometime in future.
I hate it when people die. With every passing year, with the ever increasing grey hair count, it becomes much more difficult to come to terms with the loss.
Then again, there are those who go away quietly, leaving but a few random happy thoughts after they're gone. The others, like you said, leave us crying into pillows, leave us yearning for a few more memories, leave us forever thinking of the what ifs and the buts, leave us looking at their photos and messages with smiling face and a heavy heart.
Sigh.
I'm so sorry for your loss. And Barney's. Big hug to both of you. :(
Oddly it is the distance that helps finally.
Thanks you two.
Post a Comment