Escaping the Reality

I had originally planned to share this with you towards the end of January this year. In fact I had even written it out, just needed to publish it. Thatís when my webhost had a major outage and I lost the data. Well, here it is now, though I must tell you that this was written by Radha a while after momís passing last year.

In the year after momís going, we all are taking halting steps in search of some sort of normalcy. No one in the family seems to know how to react or what to do. It seems as if we have come to our independent conclusions that we should not cry anymore. And we donít, unless we are alone. Our mom is gone, yet strangely there are times it seems she hasnít. Everything in the house still bears her imprint, the positioning of spices in the kitchen, the torn address book, the folded bags under her mattress, and so many other things.

Everywhere we look, we are reminded of her. There are moments when I am in the kitchen, and I can feel her standing behind me and smiling. I really wish and pray that I am not imagining this. I really ache for something or somebody to let me know that she is still here with us.

Last year, we didnít celebrate Diwali in our house. The mithais, the fruits, the coconut, the clay diyas, the fancy lights, nothing was bought. It was as though we ran away from the reality. And though the place where we escaped to, was comforting, none of us could shake the empty feeling from our hearts. Mom is gone and Diwali at home will never be the same again. The house is a constant reminder of her, her chair, her empty side of the bed, her purse and numerous sarees still sitting in her cupboard, just the way she left them.

But itís the emptiness, the void created by her passing. Itís as if there is no energy in the house. I sometimes wonder if I should rearrange the furniture or totally remove the obvious signs of her presence. The arrival of many new things in the house has failed to fill up these gaps. I cannot bear to open her cupboard or touch her things. I feel I am betraying her memory. Her sarees, clothes, old school books, countless photographs, office papers, itís all too personal. We donít want to and canít forget her; those are the only things we have left. All these remind us of her love and her warmth which she spread around for every single day of her life and even in her last moments.

One comment

  • June 3, 2007 - 10:12 pm | Permalink


  • Comments are closed.