My birthday was coming up again in May. The birthday in my childhood were a fun thing which I celebrated with my parents and my two siblings. As I grew up it became about friends and nightclubs, fine dining with drinks. In my forties, it became quieter the birthday just another day where most people forgot to wish me and others wished me via a WhatsApp message and I was completely fine with it.
The birthday month became a time of grief when my mother died five years ago. My dark mind could take me to places I didn’t know existed. What was my mother thinking carrying me in her womb? Was she tired, exhausted, strained with two older kids and financial troubles? Was I an planned baby or a accident of just raw sex not really wanted but never aborted for that would have been a crime? I was told I was born in the afternoon, but everyone present forgot to take my records from the hospital.
On 20th May, I turned fifty-four. The grief of her passing was hitting me like an avalanche again, since her death I could never cope with my birthday. The day she died, and the moment of her death will remain burnt in my memory forever. For months post her death that moment came like a haunting ghost. She was one minute drinking the water in the glass as I held her up post her spinal injury and the next minute she was gone with a deep gruntling sound I have never heard ever before and a white light floating away. Her body became cold like ice as she laid in a machine waiting for my brother and sister to arrive from far away and do the cremation. She was free at last and I was chained to her forever.
Not everyone can handle grief I have learnt. Most often people turn their eyes away and pontificate with statements like “Take a pill and sleep”, " Go for a walk", but no one has time to sit with you and talk. In my own family we don’t speak of emotions either. They are too frightening to acknowledge , so we hide behind our masks and of course cellphones. As a family we have never spoken of our mother's death and how it changed all of us for she held us together. We shy away from the topic because it brings up painful memories, sadness and hurt for what was lost. People often say, “I wish I could speak to the dead person to hear what they had to say before they went away suddenly”. The sudden death rarely gives us closure.
This year I promised myself it will be a different birthday. I fled to “Woods End”, my friend’s house in Dehradun surrounded by the mighty forest trees and river stream a place of rest. As I sat on the train to Dehradun the endless green fields came and memories washed up. We were after all a railway family. Each year we did several train trips and saw the length and breath of India with my siblings and parents. The sibling trip with just the three of us and my parents never happened again for we were separated by continents and different lives. It was my need never theirs. They had created their own primay families and I now came in the list of extended relatives.
My friend received me at the railway station. She was not aware of the deep lump of sadness and despair I was carrying inside me and the storm of weeping on the train. As she hugged me warmth flooded through me. For three days and four nights, all we did was talk. We talked about death and dying, grief and loss, hopelessness and depression, peace and acceptace, and the ability to let go - change the things we can and accept what we can't. Both my friend and her sister have had losses too many and too painful, yet they try to cope and move on as best as they can. They fed me each day like a mother feeds her child and my every little need big to small was taken care off.
The most precious thing which they gave me was however time, a listening ear and the ability to hold the space while I unburdened myself from the shell called grief.
As I talked with them, and they attended, in the hot garden with the butterflies flying and the flower still shining something in my shifted. I realized that death and decay is always followed by spring.
In charles Dickens words “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.” I felt it all yet the wintering must end to give life to the new world.
My mother had moved on to a new place and I needed to move too towards the sun and light and let go of the past, expectations, blame or judgements and just be at peace with my solitude and celebrate my birthdays in the years I have left on this earth
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