The romanticism that’s death

It’s almost jocular how death puts everything in perspective. We adhere to rules, regulations and all that jazz because it’s the right thing to do, or so we’re made to believe – it’s convenient after all, isn’t it! While we go about a merry existence, suddenly there’ll be something that shocks us into an awakening like no other.

Death, they say, is a part of life – I disagree! Death is the end of one’s life, not a part of it. I accept that death is a natural end to life, but explain untimely death to me. And save me the clichéd – ‘this is God’s will’, ‘this is how it’s meant to be’, etc., etc., etc. I’m not even going to try and rationalise any of the clichéd reasons, they’re clichés for a reason. But, I’ve finally stopped conforming to what most of us call life.

Life, that morally corrupt occurrence that’s intent on bastardising everyone, is quite a conundrum. Of course, we’re conditioned into being coy about it – rights and wrongs are generalised, which is rather ridiculous, and in the end, when we feel like the thorny vines can get no tighter than they already are, either something breaks us or we break free. Let’s face it, how often have we twisted, turned, mauled, deformed and reformed reason to suit our fancy? The answer/answers could and would shock us if we were to stay true to the question.

Most of life’s romantics, and boy there are so many, will tell us that all of us are constantly on the mend – but as always, I believe otherwise. I believe that most of us are constantly on the break, and that’s not a bad thing at all. It depends on how we look at what we consider mending and breaking.

Here’s my take:

Mending – a phenomenon that allows us to believe that all the little bits and pieces of ourselves need to be together, this is life after all! What does it take for us to stay mended? How many lies will we continue telling to show the world that we’re mended, just like they want us to be, just like we’re all supposed to be! Mended, indeed! We’d like very much to believe that there are just peaches and cream to our personalities, anything else is dark, hell, it’s blasphemous! Well, considering that reality usually takes a good chunk off our derriere ever so often, I’m ready to explore the dark side... what can I say, I love adventure!

Breaking – a phenomenon that’s largely looked down upon by all and sundry. After all, breaking is not the most favourable option. We’re vulnerable, susceptible to accepting (usually in small parts) that perfection is a fallacy, and of course, we come face-to-face with a long-lost friend, someone we’ve run away from, and someone we bury – someone that is our self. I met myself, a self I was in constant search of. I met myself after my dad passed away.

I believed in a higher power, a divine consciousness, God... and then my father passed away, just like that. He was young, healthy, had everything to live for. I saw him walk out of our home, he said he’d be back, and then, in less than two hours, we were left hugging his cold body. And then, I died, just then. Of course, I didn’t know it then, I didn’t know it like I know it now. There’s unfinished business between dad and me – conversations we never had, meals we still have to eat, festivals we still have to spend, dad giving me away the day I get married, dancing with dad at my wedding, dad playing with his grandkids...

Dad, my dad...

I’m aware that I’m not the first person to lose a parent and I certainly won’t be the last, however, the way I lost my parent is something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. The shock of it all is still intact, the reality of it all is in my face, slapping me, almost punching me into existence again. I’ve slapped myself, slapped myself till I was red and in pain, slapped myself to know for sure that this is true, this is happening, this isn’t a nightmare, and this is now.

I’ve had millions of condolences, most of them bounced off me. It’s not just about losing a parent; it’s the shock of losing a parent the way I did, and I shan’t make any excuses for being broken. This is my journey, my loss, my pain, and unless you’ve been on this path of shock, you don’t know. The suddenness of dad’s passing is something I won’t ever get over, I won’t; I’ll learn to live with it in time. And time doesn’t heal; time allows us time to learn to live with what we’re going through.

I sometimes wonder if it would’ve been any easier if my father lived a longer life – somehow I’d always imagined him living beyond 80. It’s an imaginary situation that I’ve tried to kill; however, I don’t think it would have been easier, but I do admit that it would’ve been lovely for him to have seen a lot more because that’s who he was – a lot more.

But that’s me – the self I was so in search of – here, right here, with a whole new belief system. Everything I once believed in has changed. I am broken, capable of breaking even further, and you know what, I’m not diffident about it anymore. Bring it on, I say, and then, just when life believes it can’t break me anymore, I shall rise one broken piece at a time, crying if I have to, bleeding if I need to, but moving on broken pieces and all.

Rejoicing in each and every piece that bled... rejoicing in strength like no other, rejoicing in myself.

Mend? We don’t ever mend, we change, we grow, we mature, but we don’t mend. Time to don those hot red stilettos and give ‘mend’ the hiding of a lifetime – I’m so broken, but hell I’m strong... getting stronger.

The self I was so in search of is revealing herself to me... one broken piece at a time!

Death, you’ve introduced me to myself.

P.S: Nothing shocks me anymore, nothing at all. Every happening is preceded by forewarning; every occurrence is often a result of deep rooted pain, one that should never be judged, but one that should be heard out.  

One day...

It has been a while since I last blogged... nine days to be precise! The last few days have been some of the worst days of my life. I've been experiencing a gamut of emotions, all of which threated to take the life out of me, in a very literal sense of that sentence. 

First October loomed large with suicidal thoughts. I was at my lowest low that evening and couldn't have gotten any lower. I messaged a very close person, told him exactly what and how I was feeling. Strangely, in spite of feeling as low as I did, his reply lifted me a little. Still, it did nothing to those ever-looming suicidal thoughts; they were playing themselves in my head, and I then explained how futile it was for me to live. He called me and I cried and cried and cried and cried - and with those tears, I overcame a little more grief. 

Considering my state of mind, I choose to have very few people in my world - my immediate family and a few close, selected friends, all of whom I can say anything to. During a time as hard as this, we're very, very vulnerable and whom we choose to associate ourselves with, makes all the difference. Who you pick is really up to you - basically, anyone you're comfortable with, anyone you can call on and anyone you can depend on, anyone who will listen to you without judging you, and of course, anyone who will give you a slap on your wrists when you need them.

We're usually in shock during and immediately after the passing away of a loved one. While in shock, we're insulated from the pain, life is a little more bearable, and we'll often surprise ourselves into believing that we're as strong as we think we are. However, once that shock wears off (and it will), reality hits us worse that a bolt of lightening. It's then and only then that we start dealing with the true intensity of what we're feeling, and in some cases, not feeling. Even though I go to work, I break down and cry if I have to, and I totally do. Go to the restroom and sob, cry, let those tears flow. 

So far, I limit my tears at home because I don't want my mum to see them, however, I break down whenever and wherever I want as this is essential to the healing process. I've been reading a lot on healing and while there's no set way we overcome grief such as this, the stages of grief are the same. Some of us may take longer than others, but it's imperative that we feel all those stages, no matter how hard it is. It has been nine days since October and I've been at my lowest low for all these days, hell, I'm low now, as I type this. 

I've also received a few lectures along the way - people telling me that I have to pick myself up, that I have to let dad go, that at a spiritual and philosophical level I should know that this is for the best, etc. All I can say is that while I'm intellectually tuned into all of the above, nothing and I mean nothing of that makes sense to me right now, and it really shouldn't. When one is as blind and deaf with pain and grief as I am at the moment, do you think I really care about all the above? No!

People say that time heals, but I disagree. I believe that time doesn't heal everything, it just makes the intensity of pain less and the grief more bearable. The loss of a parent is a loss that we live with for the rest of our lives; it's not a loss we overcome, but a loss we live with... right now, it may seem impossible, but somewhere deep down I know that eventually I'll live with this pain... eventually. 

Till then, I'll cry, break down, fight suicidal thoughts (which is also a part of the grieving process), cut out the world, stay silent, do whatever it takes to help me honour my father's memory and mourn him... only through this mourning will I be able to start living again... one day!

Daddy's message - Do whatever works for you to get yourself through this. Lots and lots of well-meaning people will have words of advice, methods of life, etc., but ONLY YOU know your journey, ONLY YOU know what you're going though and ONLY YOU know what'll get you through. If you feel like you're losing control or you're on the trigger, please call on anyone, and I mean anyone you trust.       

Another tomorrow

The endlessness of time - its wily, ceaseless, choking vines propel me towards a slow, very slow culmination of yet another day. This Sunday, 30 September, 2012, is the seventh Sunday since my daddy passed away. It's all still very implausible, surreal, unbelievable... preposterous, almost!

Ever so often, I find myself sitting and staring into space; it's nice, comfortable, especially since I don't want to move. It takes a great amount of effort to fake a smile these days, but I manage to do it anyway. I doubt I can stand another talk about "the will of God" from well-meaning family and friends. No offence to anyone, really, except that each of us grieve differently, feel differently; there really is no one way of getting over the loss of a parent.

If I'm at home on a Sunday evening, and I usually am, I trace the minutes of 12 August, 2012. How well I remember my daddy walking out of our home, how well I remember his lemon shirt, how well I remember him asking me if I needed more money for my massage later that evening. If there was ever a time I felt pain squeeze at my heart, it's now, it has been since that day.

Some of the greatest spiritual leaders and philosophers maintained that the only things permanent on earth are life and death - everything in between is transitional, a mere illusion, maya! I agree for the most part, but besides life and death, I believe that love is another component that's permanent in an otherwise meaningless existence.

All the emotions that rule our lives during our time on earth are born from love. This pain, sorrow and sense of absolute loss that I feel now are also born from love, love for my daddy who I miss so very much. I talk to dad, tell him I love him, tell I miss, ask him for forgiveness... he and me, we have our conversations, conversations we never had while he was here.

See, in spite of knowing how short life is, I always believed in another tomorrow - another tomorrow to talk to him, another tomorrow to make things right, another tomorrow to buy him those macaroons... I just didn't expect that this another tomorrow wouldn't come at all, not in this world at least. What am I left with right now?

Let's see - for starters, I'm still reeling from the shock of his sudden, untimely departure. For all my spiritual leanings, THIS does not seem right, in fact it seems like a nightmare, a nightmare I'm willing myself to wake up from. I slap myself, pinch myself, pull my hair, all in an effort to wake up, but I am still seemingly in the damn nightmare. And, if this is in fact my life now, then the magnanimity of this loss shall surely engulf me, of that I'm sure.

But somehow, in spite of it all, I find myself being carried - I may feel like my head is under the water, but I am still being carried.

Today, I was going through a landslide of emotions, all of loss, pain, despair. I find that every waking moment of mine is spent thinking of my daddy while I simultaneously continue to fulfill the other mundane tasks that are essential to life. Sleep, sleep is only level of consciousness that soothes me... at least a little. I see my daddy in my dreams, my nana, I see them smile and that reassures me that they're happy in their world; they're watching us, protecting us, guiding us and loving us in ways and depths that are unfathomable to our limited human heart and mind.

Indeed, dreams are very often messengers, quiet little commissionaires of a hidden world. A place of solace that saves me from an otherwise painful, painful existence; a place I meet my nana, my daddy, both of whom tell me that they're with me always. The only reason I look forward to another tomorrow is because I know that I'll meet my daddy and nana before tomorrow dawns... and every so often, I hope, just hope that my dreams will be never ending ones.... beyond many other tomorrows...        

Life stood still

August 12, 2012

5:40 pm - My healthy father goes for his evening walk.
6:09 pm - That fateful call from a stranger telling us dad fainted.

6:29 pm - Dad's admitted to hospital; no heartbeat, no pulse; he's cold when he's wheeled into emergency.
6:34 pm - The doctors tell Raj and Nam that dad has all but gone - mum and I don't know this yet, we were still hoping, hoping. The doctors said it was

 a sudden massive cardiac arrest; they were trying to revive him.
7:29 pm - After exhausting all they could do, they told us dad had gone. His passing was immediate, the moment my healthy father fell, just fell.

Dear God, 31 days today, and that timeline is etched so clearly, the scenes so real, even now - doctors and nurses flying in and out of emergency, us holding onto each other, family in the lobby, neighbours, business associates - disbelief.

31 days today and we're still no closer to accepting or understanding why God, why did you take my healthy daddy away! My daddy, the giver, that's what people called him, the giver who gave unconditionally.

So many people told us all that you did for them, daddy. Love you, miss you, rest in peace eternal, daddykins.

This timeline has been tattooed on my spirit in this life. I am a spiritualist but all my spiritual beliefs and learning have taken a backseat.

Fact is, the only truth of life is birth and death - everything in between makes for all our experiences, which our soul has to go through in order to fulfill its karmic duty on earth.

The physical part of me, the girl at this level, here, has questions. The spiritual part of me, the part of me I connect with when I meditate, is more accepting. That part is sad too, but accepting.

Still, when the angel of death comes calling nothing, and I mean nothing prepares us for the magnanimity of human loss. The only solace from death, is that this isn't the end; we're all a part of one spirit, one great spirit, and someday, we'll meet. Till then, we're here fulfilling our karmic duty, while our dearly departed are happy, safe, and at eternal peace in a land we shall all go to one day.

Love and peace, everyone...