Why... Why Did You Leave Us Hanging?

Summary

A couple grapples with the grief and unanswered questions following their adopted son Bala's suicide, struggling to understand his decision and come to terms with their loss as they approach the first anniversary of his death.

Abstract

The narrative recounts the emotional turmoil experienced by a couple after their son, Bala, takes his own life. The story unfolds as they approach the one-year mark since his suicide, with the parents replaying the tragic day and the subsequent year of unresolved questions. Bala, who was adopted as a one-year-old, brought immense joy and pride to his parents' lives. His aspirations to become a lawyer and his vibrant personality left a profound impact on them. The shock of his death is compounded by the lack of a clear motive, as the parents' investigation into his college life and relationships yields no answers. The mother, Sheela, retreats into silence, while the father desperately seeks closure. The couple's journey to the hospital after receiving the news, their recollections of Bala's upbringing, and their fruitless search for a reason behind his suicide underscore their deep sorrow and the void left by his absence.

Opinions

The parents are deeply affected by Bala's suicide, with the mother becoming mute and the father relentlessly seeking answers.
Bala's character is portrayed as a lively, intelligent, and promising individual with a passion for social justice.
The couple cherished their time with Bala, engaging in family activities and supporting his dreams, indicating a strong familial bond.
The parents' inability to find closure or understand Bala's reasons for taking his life is a source of immense pain and frustration.
The community's support, while appreciated, does not alleviate the parents' grief or provide them with the answers they seek.
The story conveys a sense of life's unpredictability and the profound impact of a child's suicide on the surviving parents.

Nothing kills me more than the void he left.

Tomorrow, it is going to be a year since Bala committed suicide. I have been reliving the same day over and over again. She has not found the courage yet to talk to anyone. We both have been alive without the sign of life in us. I don’t have the slightest idea on how to live out the rest of our lives.

It was 4 AM when I got a call on my phone. It was an unknown number, and so I picked it up. I am always the calmer one in the house, and my wife is a bit reactive. But on that day, the phone ring sounded a little different. My wife panicked and calmed me, saying it might be a wrong number and they would call again if it were necessary. For some reason, I felt like picking up the call. When I sat up and turned on my bedside lamp, the call disconnected. I thought for a few seconds and called back. It was Bala’s roommate from college. The two words from his mouth felt like thunder striking my head, Bala and Suicide.

We enjoyed every bit of him, a bit too much.

We both took our car and left. The college was about two hours away, and Bala insisted on staying in the on-campus boarding so he could be independent. He refused when we offered to move closer to his college. I don’t recall the drive to the college. While we were on the way to the college, I called Bala’s friend and got the address of the hospital they took him to. As soon as we reached the hospital, we ran to the front desk.

Within the first year, after we got married, Sheela became pregnant. The next nine months were a golden period of happiness, joy, planning, friends, family visiting, movie nights, and potlucks. We talked so much about how we will bring our children into the world. It seemed too good for it to last long. Sheela had a last-minute complication when her water broke, and the doctor couldn’t save the baby. Life took a sharp turn for us, and we found it hard to get over it. The things we bought and planned were all hurting us at home. Within the next few months, we moved to a new city in the same state. We crawled back into life, yet we were not ready to have a kid. One night Sheela opened up about the struggle she had been having over the thought of getting pregnant once again. I immediately consoled her and suggested the adoption route as I was not also not ready to go through the pregnancy and the expectation. We looked up adoption centers and started the process. We were on the waitlist in various centers for about six months when we got Bala home. He had turned one. He surprised us when he smiled as soon as we picked him up. Life started looking beautiful.

Bala grew up faster than we could keep up with him. Life got busy with work, home, and Bala. We parented him to the best of our abilities. We cared for and nurtured him, disciplined him, reasoned with him, and encouraged him to share his emotions. Both our family sides liked him, and our neighbors and friends too. We never had any complaints from school about his behavior or actions. He was a good kid. He wanted to become a lawyer, especially one who fights for the poor and the homeless. He would ask Sheela to act at home like she was a criminal and give us a storyline. I would be the judge, and he would come up with argument points and give a big speech about society’s rights and wrongs. We enjoyed every bit of him, a bit too much.

After he moved out to college, he would come home every weekend. We used to play cards, watch movies, and tease him with his friends who were girls. We would joke about everything and sometimes embarrass him. He often would laugh at our silliness and ask us to act according to our age. I would always tear up when Monday morning came, and he had to leave for the week.

We needed answers, and I kept knocking at every door possible in the college. People directed us to where Bala stayed, restaurants he ate, cafes, and bars he hung out with friends, asking them for any information that might lead us to why he committed suicide. I searched through all his belongings in his room, at home, and wherever my mind told me to. I came back empty-handed. Sheela became mute and refused to talk to anyone, including me. Life took away two precious lives from her without giving her many reasons. She had the right to be angry. I couldn’t stay at home grieving. Every day I would leave home thinking today was the day I would find something new. It had been a year, and I had nothing. Friends and family came home to console us, but it tired us. I seem to listen to them only to see if they know anything about why he committed suicide.

It’s time to pack and leave once again. This time, it will be me, Sheela, and the burning question, “Why did you do it? “.