AKHILVAANI: SHADHANJALI: A YEAR AFTER BABUJI WENT TO HEAVENLY ABODE-THE PATHOLOGICAL GRIEF DOES NOT GO AWAY

5th AUGUST, 2021, JANSHEDPUR (INDIA)

A year has gone by.

Exactly on this day, in the wee hours of Fifth August, Two Thousand Twenty, Babuji-my father- chose to go to heavenly abode. When Babuji died, the nation was in the throes of the killer first wave of the unknown animal- COVID-19. Every one across the globe, including yours truly was trying to find the coping strategy to survive the new subnormal existence suddenly brought on our door step by the coronavirus

For every human, parents are special, Babuji was more special

Even in death there were three things special about Babuji- One, like my Dadi ( paternal grand mother) he too chose the date and time to depart from the Planet Earth. Two, till the very end, he kept himself abreast with going on in the globe, nation and family-he never missed his favorite news bulletins of All India Radio and with every family visitors he talked for hours and hours. And three days before death while talking to me on long distance video call, his concern was my health and not his worsening condition- he knew, with diabetes, smoking and Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, I was soft target for COVID-19.

I seldom remember him talking to me about existential difficulties in his life- which were many

When Babuji died, I yearned to take the first available flight to perform his last rites. The Hindu traditions mandates that the last rites of the father are performed by the eldest son.

Alas! It was not to be.

When the death came calling to Babuji at our home at Patna in the Eastern part of the country I was far away in Pune in the Western Part of India. And the distance proved unbridgeable stung by the severe flight restrictions imposed due to the lock-down,

I could not reach Patna either for his cremation or last rites.

My last living memory of Babuji is of the previous night before death-shown to me on a whatsup video call as desired by my mother-

"Babuji was his gasping for his last breaths".

Babuji did not die due to Covid-19. His was a natural death. Medical certificate says his heart stopped functioning.

In life and death, Babuji was surrounded by children, grand children and even great grand children. Even me, my wife and our children made periodic visits to him.

Babuji died at home. He was aged 93.

And except for last few hours when he gasped for breath, his was a peaceful death.

And what a life he led despite penury- a life rich in spirit with extraordinarily sharp mental faculties. When I last visited him, few months before his death, I have fond memories of Babuji regaling me with his childhood spent in opulence in Rohtash Garh, last posting of his father (Baba) as Khas Mahal Tehsildar in British era before traumatic death of Baba afflicted with incurable tuberculosis which sent the family reeling in abject poverty.

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When Babuji died my siblings and other relatives were present or reached soon thereafter.

I could not.

My siblings grieved together and consoled each other. They moved on with life.

Even my mother after the initial shock composed herself.

But faraway that I was , my grief has proved a lonely unremitting battle.

It has got only compounded with the passage of days, months and now a year. Instead of lessening, the grief in symptoms, intensity and duration has worsened substantially with passage of time. My yearning to be with Babuji and guilt and anger at my inability at not being there when he needed me most has become all pervasive and consuming.

While awake, Babuji is omnipresent in my yearnings. My mind goes in circle reminiscing six decades of life lived with him, more particularly my golden young years and sacrifices he made to make me what I am today. Also, frequently, in the dead of night I wake up infrequently, panic-stricken perspiring profusely filled with nightmare that Babuji is calling my name, when I open my eyes, the only image, I can see is of Babuji gasping for one last breath.

I am not a scientist. Neither am I a psychiatrist nor other mental health expert. I have been a user of psychiatric services- for decades I have dangled between the deadening depression and flame out of mania.

And this grief is not the depression.

But I also know by now my grief is not normal. My other siblings have moved in life after the death of Babuji, But I have got stuck.

I have not had the closure of my worsening grief.

For me the grief cause by the death of Babuji is an ongoing and unremitting separation grief full of cognitive, emotional and behavioral symptoms. I continue to have immense difficulties accepting the finality of the loss and remain over laden with persistent guilt and anger for having failed Babuji when he needed me most

This grief has a new name- "Prolonged Grief Disorder"

"In 1918, World Health Organization (WHO) in its newest 11th Edition of International Classification of Diseases (ICD), classified my condition as Prolonged Grief Disorder. I meet the typological criteria for this newest of psychopathology and am trying to deal it with the help of family, friends and doctors."