Seventy-nine but No Longer Counting

Summary

The author reflects on their mother's passing, the impact of her absence, and the ways they cope with grief on what would have been her 79th birthday.

Abstract

The article titled "THE WIND PHONE" poignantly captures the author's emotional journey following the loss of their mother. The author recounts the unexpected nature of their mother's death due to chronic lung disease, despite a period of recovery from spinal TB. They describe the pain of the loss, the struggle to cope with the absence of their mother's laughter and presence, and the ways in which they have learned to navigate their grief. The author shares how they continue to communicate with their mother through internal dialogues, particularly in the kitchen, a place that holds many memories. They acknowledge the irony of now following their mother's health advice, which they once ignored. The article is a heartfelt tribute to the author's mother, filled with nostalgia, sorrow, and the attempt to find strength and silver linings in the face of profound loss.

Opinions

The author expresses a deep sense of shock and unpreparedness for their mother's death, emphasizing that it was entirely unexpected.
They admit to indulging in periods of sorrow and miss their mother's ability to lift their spirits, indicating a reliance on memories and internal conversations to cope.
The author reveals a sense of irony in adopting healthier habits post their mother's passing, which they had previously dismissed.
There is a feeling of being cheated out of future years with their mother, who they imagined would be vibrant and supportive well into old age.
Despite the sadness, the author acknowledges the wisdom and strength they gained from their mother, which helps them to continue and see the positive aspects of life.
The author's dedication to their mother's memory is evident, as they continue to honor her through daily rituals and by cherishing her advice.

Because the clock stopped for Mom at 64

Photo property of Author. En route to Bhagsu Nag Falls, Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh, India

My mom would have turned 79 last month. I wrote her a letter — one among thousands.

Mi, we celebrated your birthday with payasam and a walk down memory lane, reminiscing about “those days” when you were with us, and your laughter echoed often around the house. Because that’s all we’ve got left — memories. I never ever visualized a time you would not be around; you know? Considering I enjoyed doing the what-if scenarios — I am amazed I never thought about “when mi is not around”.

And fate, who we know always has the last laugh, dealt me a solid thwack on my soul by whisking you away when we least expected it. In fact, not just that — we did not expect it at all. I mean, when I think of those futile hospital trips and coming back home dejected, frustrated that the doctors seemed to be so — we finally got a third opinion about a no-surgery kind recovery — we thought things would get better.

And they did. Three months of bed rest later, you recovered from spinal TB. The physiotherapist thought you were doing well. Everything looked bright in the new year which was 2010. And yet, in the traditional ‘anything is possible’ way, you were gone, thanks to the chronic lung disease that decided to rear its ugly head. We had no time to prepare even during that uncertain week when you were hooked to life-support in the hospital.

I don’t think I will ever get over it, although I have now learned to lock the sorrow inside me, and to indulge in being miserable whenever I feel like it. It helps that I work from home and am alone for long hours. Sometimes I just sob my heart out. It doesn’t always make me feel better, though.

Obviously, you are aware that I enjoy whining to you because you were such an expert at humoring me before doing the iron hand in velvet glove routine to draw me out of that state. Some days I feel so dejected even though I pull myself out of it quickly enough.

Thanks to you, I have my little emotional armory full of tricks to get over any toxic state of mind. I don’t allow it to go beyond a healthy level, but even I am allowed to wallow in misery, right?

Also, I realize I need to be strong for many upcoming things. For the moment, however, we are trying to be sane, considering all that is on our plates.

I talk to you in my head all the time, especially now since I spend a lot of time in the kitchen to keep up with my diet. And isn’t it totally ironic that I choose to write here on the very day I cut my thumb and thought I was bleeding to death? Got quite a scare yesterday when it wouldn’t stop. Deep-ish. But I know this too shall pass.

You’ll be shocked to know that I no longer start my day with coffee. I find it so hilarious and well, I adjust the halo around my head every morning at this great sacrifice. I do have half a cup much later after breakfast and some days, another quarter cup if I feel like it. That’s it. I see you laughing when I churn the yogurt every morning — thinking about how I would show off about how to make the perfect buttermilk.

There is not a day when I don’t think about your advice — to take care of my health. I am sorry I ignored your nuggets of wisdom. But you know what they say — we store everything in our subconscious mind and if we are lucky, we recall the good stuff at the appropriate times. What can I say? Even as I cry into my coffee, and feel choked thinking about all those lovely mornings we spent on the balcony with our morning coffee, I know I am blessed. After all, you were the one who taught me to see the silver linings.

I can’t help feeling cheated, though. I used to have this vision of you, as a sprightly 78-year-old, rushing around as you always do, being the life and soul of our home, always supportive, and loving; to think that life snatched you away at 64 seems completely unacceptable to me.

And there’s nothing I can do about it but feel sad.

THE WIND PHONE

Seventy-nine but No Longer Counting

Because the clock stopped for Mom at 64

Vidya Sury, Collecting Smiles ❤ Did you smile today?