Vulnerable

A personal reflection

I had a 5 minute cry on the phone with a relative when I found mom had left me. “Don’t cry Van, your mom is in a better place. She needs you to be strong now, like her. There’s so much to do for her.”

I took a deep breath. Wiped my face.

I arranged for the city morgue to pick her up and hold her until I secured the funeral home.

I made the calls to relatives who were kind enough to call other relatives.

I cleaned out mom’s studio apartment and made arrangements with the landlady to pick up the furniture.

As an only child, the Hindu rituals were my own burden. Many things had to be done and many requirements had to be filled so my mom’s soul could move on happily. I stayed laser-focused on the funeral arrangements and the 2-weeks of Śrāddha ritual requirements.

I stayed strong. I stayed focused.

At the funeral, relatives said, “be strong Van, you’ll get through this” and “Van, you’re as strong as your mom. She would be so proud.”

It was their words of greeting. Well meant. Trying to instill strength in me.

My 4 kids were quite young. The youngest was 4 at the time. I stayed strong for all of them. I used calm, semi-uplifting words to explain to my kids why they would not see grandma again. “She’s gone off to a better place. She’s with God now. She’ll always watch down on you with smiles from heaven.”

My husband loved and appreciated my mom. He was the only one concerned that I wasn’t crying. He admitted that my calmness worried him.

My expressive self, who cried watching Toy Story, had become very neutral. Numb.

You could say I was in shock. But I was not. I was staying “strong”.

When the rituals were over and relatives were done checking in on me and it was time to return to work and school and regular life, I still stayed strong.

I still didn’t cry. I put on my happy face and continued to be a strong woman for those who loved me.

Three months later, I picked up the phone to call mom and invite her to her grandson’s kindergarten graduation.

That’s when I cried.

That’s when I let myself feel.

My mom was gone. I couldn’t call to give happy news or gripe about the inlaws. I couldn’t meet her for shopping or drop off newly printed photos of her grandkids. I couldn’t ask her for home remedies and recipes. She wouldn’t be coming over to color with her grandkids or help her older granddaughters shop for new clothes.

I cried for my loss. And then I cried for my kids’ loss. Hubby came home to find me crying and just sat with me, handing me tissues and water. Then went on to take care of the kids and dinner and bring me food and a blanket.

I cried on and off for several days. The kids hugged me many times. My littlest asked if I miss my mommy and I said yes. And her response was that it was ok, she missed her too. Then she asked if crying was making me feel better.

I had to stop to think about that one.

I realized that this heaviness I had in my chest for so many months, wasn’t so heavy anymore.

It’s been almost 9 years. I still cry every now and then. I cry for my loss. It helps me heal.

Vulnerability is not a sign of weakness.

I am strong because I am vulnerable. — Natasha Nicole Lake, from the book Authentic

Today’s story was in response to a reflection prompt from Authentic, a beautiful uplifting book of affirmations and no-nonsense, cut-through-the-bs reminders that YOU ARE WORTHY, written by Natasha Nichole Lake. I’ve just started it and couldn’t help but publish my first reflection here.