Two years. Two years today.
You know, just a few days ago, a question popped into my head. I don't remember exactly what, but I'm sure it was something about music, or when you were a little boy, or when we were in America...they usually are. Yes, these questions suddenly pop into my head and when they do, my first thought, the absolute first thought that comes immediately, instantaneously, instinctively into my mind is, "Baba-ke call korey jiggesh kortey hobey." And then of course, it just as soon pours a bucket of ice cold water onto my head while simultaneously giving me a giant kick on my butt.
You see Baba, I still have questions that need to be answered. About you. About me. About our family. About us.
I still have things to share with you. About music. About food. About books and music. About your grandsons.
It's still so hard. So very, very hard. I still can't think about you without my heart hurting. I still can't talk about those twenty days in January without crying. I still can't listen to the music you loved and the singers you worshiped without sobbing loud, long and hard. Often, when I sing your grandsons the lullabies that you'd sing for The Bro and me, my voice cracks and I can't go on.
I still forget sometimes that you're not there anymore.
This afternoon, after MaaJanoni dropped me off on the street corner and I started walking towards home, I nearly froze in my tracks. I wasn't wearing my glasses, but I thought for second I saw you. I stopped and stared. The man walked closer...he wore glasses, had more salt than pepper hair and a nice big bald spot, wasn't too tall, not at all fat, shuffled along slowly, and walked with his hands clasped behind his back and a slight stoop. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me and I started walking towards him in trance, almost expecting him to stop and say something. He wasn't as fair as you and wore his hair slightly longer than you, but as I finally focused on his face, I noticed that he wore a look of intense concentration just like yours. I almost said something to him just so that I could hear his voice and to see if he would have said something similar to what you would have said. Of course, me being me, I didn't say anything (I sooooo am your daughter), just gave him a half-smile instead. He looked back at me and continued walking...even his expression was similar to yours! I stood at the entrance to our house and kept staring at his back as he walked away. While there was a part of me that was disappointed that he didn't say anything, the other part of me couldn't get over his gait and just stood there drinking it all in.
You see, Baba? What I've become? A mad, crazy girl who expects random, old men to burst into words that you once spoke. A distraught, depressed daughter whose heart starts to beat rapidly because she's just seen a man old enough to be her father, walk her father's walk.
Really DaddyDearest, was it so necessary for you to go? Khub ki dorkaar chhilo?
I love you and always will. I miss you and I forever will. I'm broken and always will be.
Your devoted daughter
8 comments:
I find it hard to read posts about your dad. I cannot relate to your pain, but I am here to listen. Hugz!
Hey BC... Love and hugs. He is watching over you, for sure.
All healing vibes your way, M4. He's there, somewhere, watching over you all.
Hugs M4.
hugs, dearie. life sucks, what can I say?
From the inner-most core of my heart, I thank you. And hugs to you all...
Der Mmia
Hugs. I relate to how you feel - although in not exactly the same way. It was five years on Jan 23 since my father passed away. He passed away from pulmonary complications during the last two days of his life. I imagine him being taken away by the ER people and how he never came back home...I still feel like it hurts me deep within that his body was there dressed in traditional clothes (and he looked tall and majestic in his death) but without a jacket - he used to feel so cold and always dress very warmly...small things like that still makes me feel very disturbed. But I still feel grateful these days when I see the horrors around me - young people leaving behind very young children and dying of cancer, some of whom suffered for two years or so before that...I feel grateful that he lived a full life and was sick only the last two days of his life...but death is the most difficult thing to accept...the void is something you feel and cannot do anything about...
Somehow the poem I read around the time of his death somehow helped me.
Best wishes to you.
Love
Noon
----------
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
@noon: First of all a big, big hug to you. And prayers too.
Not wearing a jacket and feeling cold...I can relate to that. I felt the same and made sure he was wrapped up in the shawl that he had been wearing the last few days at home before he went to the hospital. I even remember saying, "Baba'r ttandaa laagchhey" (Baba's feeling cold) and cradling his head until someone got me a pillow. Of course, at the crematorium, I saw with my own eyes what happened to the shawl and pillow, but I was too weary and grief-stricken to say anything in protest :-(
Thank you for sharing the poem...I will write it down and read it whenever I am feeling overwhelmed.
Hugs!
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