A Strong Mother
Of loss, grief, and hope
“It’s looking like days to weeks…”
The words stung heavy on my heart. I knew, or at least I thought I knew, that it couldn’t be long. Yet hearing that someone so close to me was so near to death just hit me a little different.
My cousin was dying. It’s been a day.
Some say talking about death is taboo but I think anticipatory grief is a form of mourning that deserves its own space too, even though it can be uncomfortable.
Last night I received a text from my mom saying “Vijay anna passed away this morning.”
I wanted to say my ‘goodbye’ at his bedside, filled with love inside that I needed him to hear. Did he know that I loved him deeply and that he is, or was… my kind of ‘person’?
He was my fashion idol growing up. I used to follow him around whenever he got ready to go out, observing his choice of colors in his clothing, his choice of shades, cologne & accessories. I used to look forward to riding with him on his bike. He used to make me sit upfront on top of the tank, to experience the speed better, as he zig-zagged his way through the streets of Madras.
But his last couple of years had been excruciating. He was in terrible pain, with his independence taken away, with no ability to speak or eat, and spending the majority of his day in bed with a staff of nurses to take care of his functions. As I begin to comprehend this reality, I can’t help but think of my aunt. His mother. My athai.
This woman is a true embodiment of resilience and love. She had to be. When my athimber (her husband) got bedridden with a long term illness, 18 years ago, she fought to take care of him for years with nothing but love from her heart, financial assistance from my cousin, and a little amount of emotional support from her relatives. Fast forward a few years, when my cousin got married and was supposed to start his new chapter in life with his wife and newborn son, a couple of unfortunate accidents coupled with a few bad choices got him separated, immobilized, and confined to bed.
At the age of 70, tasked yet again to take care of her family. This time it was her 40-year old son, with no estimate of how long, reduced financial assistance, and the magnitude of emotional support from her relatives was lower than before. But her love was still strong. When her faith and will power was put to test, she didn’t flinch or budge even for a moment. She shouldered the responsibility whole-heartedly with the tenacity of a newborn mother.
From feeding him to helping him with bodily functions to assisting him with mobility to encouraging him with physical therapy to dealing with his taunts to handling his tantrums to making him smile and finally to praying to higher power for his recovery, she did all that she possibly could.
Her love is simply not confined just to her son. Whenever anyone from the family went to visit my cousin for a bit of assistance, she would make a big deal of the visit. A smile would spread across her face and her eyes would gleam with genuine happiness. She would go out of her way to cook their favorite dishes and merrily pack even some more for home.
When I spoke to her this morning, there were those words again, “the doctor said it would be days to weeks”. The pain, like an arrow to the chest. How do you console a grieving mother? Her words before ending the call were, “He’s finally relieved from the pain. That’s how I’m consoling myself.”
I’ve seen her in those hospital rooms. I’ve seen her pray, hope, and hold on to faith with a sheer will that would put most to shame. I’ve seen her hold him with tears streaming down her face because this kind of sickness wasn’t the kind that just comes and goes, this was the kind where no one can assure you that he was going to be okay.
She is brave. She is strong. She is loving.
She fought for him when he couldn’t fight for himself. She went to the places no one wanted to go. She knew a side of the world that most would like to pretend doesn’t exist. She called his hospital her home away from home, and while the rest of the world may find that sad, she saw hope. It was the place that gave him a chance at life.
She was his cheerleader. His smile maker. She was the one who knew his favorite songs and favorite food. She was the one who knew how to calm him down, how to hold him, how to love him best.
While other parents talked about their grandkid’s feeding schedules, she talked all day about her 40-year old son’s anatomy, what surgeries are next, or what treatments are on the radar. While other parents taught their grandkids to crawl and to walk, she taught him to bear weight on his legs and rebuild his core from the weakness of lying in a hospital bed all day.
She’s a mom. She would have done anything for her son.
I see you, athai. Hold on to hope.
This is not a path anyone chooses. You did not do anything wrong to make this happen. Vijay anna did not do anything wrong to make this happen. This does not make you worse or better than any other parent. It just makes you different.
Keep on doing what you are doing, loving him no matter what.
You did a good job. You are a good mom. You’re one hell of a woman.
Jaya paati would be proud. Sampath athimber would be proud. Entire family is proud.
I wish to become a bird.
Dear god. Dear earth. Dear clouds.
Why should anything die?
I want it all to live forever.
What I mean is I want to stand in my garden and gaze at my sunflowers.
