You’re not Crazy, it’s Grief

Looking down at my mother’s dead body draped in her beautiful paithani saree, I heaved a sigh of relief. She looked peaceful, with possibly a slight smile on her face. After all, she was entering the next phase of her journey on her most favorite day- Gudi Padwa. I pictured her in heaven gracefully raising the Gudi; happily devouring the delicious shrikhand puris she would lovingly prepare for us every year. On the morning of her cremation, the skies were a clear blue and the slight cool breeze beat Mumbai’s heat. Relatives and friends had arrived from near and far to pay their last respects. Most were understandably distraught. They offered me their deepest condolences to which my only deadpan reply was, “Thank you, but it’s fine.” I did not shed a single tear at the cremation and in fact cracked a few inappropriate jokes to lighten the tense atmosphere. If my mother had died under suspicious circumstances, I would have been the most probable suspect. April 6, 2019 was the first night I slept soundly in over 6-7 years.

Before you brand me a sociopath, let me explain. My mother had suffered from liver cirrhosis and related health issues for almost a decade before succumbing to a multi-organ failure. Most of those years were spent consulting countless doctors, my mother undergoing several surgeries and even more medical tests. Through my young adult years, as one of my mother’s primary caregivers, I had seen her being constantly pricked by needles and hooked onto loud beeping machines. There were several occasions when she was rushed to the hospital in the wee hours of the night. Towards the end of her life, more days were spent at the hospital than home. My mother was physically and emotionally withering away, and we seemed to have exhausted all medical means of saving her. The hardest part of my caregiving journey was seeing my mother in a comatose state; not knowing if she was in pain or even able to understand our last loving words. As a family, we impatiently waited for her suffering to end. When she died, I thought that the worst was finally over. It was a death I had anticipated and made peace with. I hate to admit it, but I was terribly wrong.

It had been over 8 months since my mother’s death, and life was slowly moving along. It was just another busy day at office. We had locked ourselves in a meeting room and were fervently closing a deal. Amidst the conference, I happened to look out of the window and notice a kite flying high in the sky. She looked magnificent, elegantly prying around for her prey. There was something exquisite about her. Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face. No, I wasn’t fairing badly in the legal negotiations. The kite reminded me of my deceased mother. I imagined my mother flying freely high up in the sky devoid of her mortal pain; watching closely over me as I struggled to grasp the enormity of her loss. It is in that moment I could relate to ‘Phoebe Buffay’ from the ever-famous television sitcom ‘Friends’- where Phoebe was convinced that the spirit of her dead mother was inside a cat. I quickly pretended that dust had entered my eyes and found solace in the privacy of the washroom. The void of my mother’s loss had only intensified as the months had passed.

Most renowned dictionaries define ‘Grief’ to mean “a very sad feeling” or “a feeling of extreme sadness”. The authors of the Oxford dictionary (and others) clearly have not experienced grief personally. ‘Sadness’ is the layman’s term for describing grief. Grief is a feeling of extreme rage and envy (of other human beings and their alive intact families). Grief is a feeling of constant exhaustion, like you’re continuously carrying the burden of the entire world on your fragile shoulders. If you’re a woman, then you can relate to the following- Grief can feel like you’re constantly PMSing; in one moment you’re laughing your heart out and then suddenly, you’re a blubbering mess. Grief is a feeling of being cheated by life; someone immensely precious to you has been rudely snatched away before their time. Most importantly, grief is a feeling of intense love; a love which now has nowhere to go and is trapped aching within you. Grief is feeling all the aforesaid at once, and then suddenly feeling nothing at all. ?

The conference room wasn’t the first time I had suddenly teared up out of the blue. My waterworks began a month after my mother’s death on the way to the airport for a business trip. I suddenly realized that I will never ever receive the 10,000 “annoying” calls/texts from my mother inquiring if I had eaten well and was sufficiently covered to brace the cold. My entire trip I desperately longed to experience all my mother’s quirks which irked me when she was alive. The irony of my wretched state slapped me hard across my face. I felt helpless and unjustifiably angry that I did not possess the magical powers to awaken the dead. I felt (still feel) cheated of the wonderful memories I should have been making with my mother; being her concerned and angry matron for the last several years in discharge of my caregiving duties was anything but happy. It was a struggle to be my professional best; I barely felt semi-human. The sudden and untimely feeling of intense loss had taken me by surprise; especially given how calm and collected I was at my mother’s funeral. No one had warned me about what grief can feel like or do.

At first, I was convinced that I was losing my mind; that my husband jokingly calling me “crazy cat lady” all those years had finally come true (including the cats). However, slowly with professional help and obsessively reading up other’s experiences with grief I realized I was perfectly normal. It was absolutely alright for me to start crying at the grocery store because I couldn’t remember the masalas my mother used for preparing my favorite paneer curry; that it was fine for me to be immensely sad on the day I got promoted (and other happy occasions) because I could no longer share the happy news with the person who was my biggest cheerleader. I realized that it was absolutely alright not to meet or speak to people, and not to attend events if I did not have the emotional energy to socialize. I lost many friends who were unable to understand my plight; to most of the world I was free of my mother’s caregiving duties and should have been “living it up”. However, time heals all wounds is a misnomer, especially when used in relation to grief. As time passes, more and more occasions arise when one feels the void of their deceased loved one. I was immensely lucky to forge new friendships with people who had had their own experiences with grief; who held (still hold) my hand tightly through my worst lows and gave me their unwavering shoulder to cry on.

The random outbreaks of tears and anger still continue with varying intensities and time intervals. Does this mean I am perpetually crying/angry and that there is no hope for anyone who loses their loved one? No, not at all; the world would have been doomed long ago if that were true. Not to mention, my mother would have awoken from her grave just to knock some sense into me and order me to start living! I (and everyone who suffers a loss) have slowly learnt to live with the pain. I still laugh, crack jokes, work, travel, socialize and many a times live life to the fullest; just the way my mother would have wanted me to. I have also become better at masking my pain. Over the years I have learnt to swim through the waves of grief; sometimes it may take me weeks but more often than not I am absolutely fine in a matter of hours (even minutes).

My tryst with grief has taught me that losing a loved one is never easy, and that each person has their own experiences with grief. Grief is largely defined by the relationship you shared with the deceased and the circumstances surrounding their death. A lot of my grief is defined by my former caregiver role (the guilt of not being able to save her; the many unfortunate memories of seeing her suffer over the last few years) and the young-adult age I lost her at. Some people may appear absolutely unfazed by their loss while some others hysterical. There is no one correct way to deal with your grief.

I believe that my mother is a part of nature; that I breathe her beautiful fragrance in through the many colorful flowers. Like Phoebe, I am convinced that my mother’s spirit lives in birds, soaring high above freely and guiding me through life.?We all eventually find our own coping mechanism, and make our way through life; always holding onto the boundless love we once shared. As wisely put by Winnie the Pooh - "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."