Saturday, November 9, 2013

Saying goodbye


How do you say goodbye to someone who’s your whole world? How do you say goodbye to someone who has been one of the most important influences in your life, who has shaped you, moulded you and cared for you? How do you say goodbye to someone who is the only reason you walk this earth today? 

My mother has been on the ventilator for almost a week now. Some tough decisions will need to be made in the next couple of days. My siblings and I will have to be strong enough to make those decisions. To be able to let go. And while I know that is the kinder thing to do, my heart refuses to accept it. Selfishly I want to hang on to her. To keep her with me for as long as I can. Because as long as my mother is alive I can still be a child. I can rest my head on her lap when things seem too overwhelming. Its been a long time since I have done that. Rested my head on her lap and had her stroke my hair. But earlier, before she took very ill, every trip home would be incomplete without that, even if it were for just a few minutes. Today, when my daughter comes and rests her head in my lap when she has a migraine or is feeling unwell, I stroke her head the way my mother did mine and feel a quiet sense of comfort. 

When I look back at the tapestry of my life, I see that the richest patterns, the most beautiful colours and the most enduring threads are those of my mother. From her I received so many gifts. The gift of writing. The love for reading. Generosity of spirit. Compassion for those less-privileged. An appreciation for the more important things in life... My mother is the least materialistic person I have ever come across. She never craved for anything and did not even know the meaning of greed. Gifting her then was both difficult and easy. No sarees or jewellery for her. A book was enough to make her happy. I think she is the reason my siblings and I grew up with a healthy disregard for material wealth.  My sister recently remarked: “We are not street-smart”. Maybe that’s not a good thing in today’s world, but I would not have it any other way.   

They say only a mother can love you unconditionally. And I have seen that in action. When I was going through the toughest phase of my life, having chosen to marry the love of my life, I face vehement opposition from everybody. There was a lot of anger, hurt, a sense of betrayal on both sides. My mother must have been hurt too. Yet when I placed my head on her lap and cried my heart out, she gently stroked my hair and comforted me. Then my mild, timid mother did something so brave, that almost a quarter century later, it has the power to make me cry. She who had never opposed anybody, or fought for herself, found the courage to stand by me and quietly give me her blessings. I still marvel at the depth of her love that put my happiness before all else - even her faith. Its so clear in my mind’s eye: the day when she gave me my ‘trousseau’ - stuff she had collected for me over the years.  The tears in her eyes as she gave me a red saree with her blessings. What courage that must have required! To know that her gesture would have repercussions on her. That my father would not take kindly to her action. 

And when finally I walked out of my home to start my life afresh, it was only my mother who understood why I took the decision. I still have the letter she wrote to my best friend demonstrating again, her unconditional love and her in-depth understanding of my feelings. When I was pregnant and my best friend conveyed the news to her, she was anguished that she could not be there for me. “A girl needs her mother during this time” she said, ruing the fact that she couldn’t do what her heart yearned to do.

There are a hundred memories that come rushing, knocking incessantly at the door of my soul. Asking to be let in. I hold them back. Not now. Not all at once. It is too painful at this moment. Now, for the little time I have, I will believe that all’s well with the world, because my mother still inhabits this world. And just for a little while more, I can still be a child.