Rising from the ashes: Finding acceptance

 Loss comes in different colors. It may be that something tangible we possess is taken from us. It could be something or someone we always imagined as a part of our lives leaving. It could be relationships that sour over time. But the hardest part is finding acceptance. Not just of what happened, but all the voids created in our present and perceived future as a result of this event.

When my Dad had a stroke, I looked at it as a transient event. That he would get better in a few months, maybe a year. After that, things would go back to how they were. Over time, gradually, I realized that this was not going to happen. He got worse, and all the negative traits he had became magnified. I saw depression take hold of him with a vengeance, and his anxiety ratcheted to the highest I'd ever seen it. He lives every day in agony, screaming continuously for the most part. Every other week, a physical ailment crops up, adding to all our burdens. Sometimes I look at him in disbelief. I can no longer even recognize him - physically, emotionally, mentally. Where is the father I have known and loved all my life? Where is that tall person with broad shoulders? Where is that staunch supporter of mine, who always celebrated my every milestone? Where is that cheerful person who used to smile so often? Where is that strong confident person who used to always support me in my difficult times? I know he is somewhere in there still, but it is so hard for me to accept the reality that I see. A shrunken man with hollowed cheeks, arms and legs as frail as sticks, face furrowed in constant pain, unable to move, unwilling to hold a conversation. It has been two and a half years now, and after shedding buckets of tears and inhabiting black holes of depression for what seemed like infinite time, I have somewhat come to terms with it. Yes, this is my father now, and I still love him. I may not like seeing him this way, but that's an entirely different story.

Sometime last year, my Mom started talking about moving to an assisted living facility with my Dad and grandfather. It hit me like a tsunami. I belonged to that class of people who entirely looked down upon people who abandoned their old and ailing parents in one of these places. How irresponsible and uncaring of them, I'd thought. But after my father became bedridden, I realized how daunting a task it was to take care of a chronically ill parent and manage a demanding career. Even though I initially asked my Mom to move in with me, I didn't fully understand the consequences. I naively believed that my love for them would be enough to tide me over all the difficulties that came. My mom staunchly refused to move with me, and looking back today, I feel sad but grateful. My PhD wouldn't have survived this. I watched heartbroken, as my Mom handled so much of it herself. I felt helpless, but I had made the choice to go down this path, and I had to make my peace with the consequences too. I helped out as much as I could, but it was still a long way away from living with them.

My Mom is the strongest person I know, but even she has her limits. Last year, my grandfather joined the list of bedridden people, and their house turned more into a nursing home. After two dozen hospital visits, my Mom gave up and made this ominous statement. I am tired. I can't do this anymore. I want to go to a care home. As I said, I took it very personally at the time. I had failed them as a daughter. I was overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow. I couldn't let this happen. I begged her not to go. To just continue the way it was. She screamed at me. Everyone tells me the same thing, just manage at home. But what about me? How do I handle this? How long do I keep slaving away both at work and home? How many more hospital visits should I endure? How many more caregivers do I hire and train only to lose them a month later? I can't even sleep peacefully at night. One of them is always sick. I keep worrying about the other one, about finding an ambulance in the middle of the night, and a hundred other things. What do you know about any of my struggles? You are happily roaming around the world.

I was hurt, and even more overwhelmed by guilt. I gave her false hope, hope that I myself couldn't find. Things will get better. You've held on for so long, just a little bit more. Time has a way of sorting things out. She stopped talking to me for a while. I felt relieved. Maybe she'd dropped this whole idea. But a couple of months later, she told me that she'd been searching. That she had shortlisted a few places. That a couple of her options were outside Bangalore as well. The knife twisted in my heart again, and rage and sorrow formed an unholy mixture. I told her that she was doing this to emotionally blackmail me. As if my life isn't hard enough without you adding all this drama! All my peers are getting love and support from their parents to help them cope with their PhD struggles. You guys don't even ask me how I'm doing let alone support me, and I have never complained. I have tried to do everything I can to help you. But now, you are talking about moving away, that too outside Bangalore. Have you thought about the consequences of this on me? Do you even care? Every step in my life, I have always considered you guys. I've always stayed in Bangalore to be near you. And now, you say this so nonchalantly. Clearly, I don't matter to you.

I fumed and cried for days on end. My parents were awful, and I had been given this terrible lot in life to deal with. All my dreams were shattered, and the very people I wanted in my life wanted to go away from me. The next time I visited my parents, I was still angry. But then I saw my Mom. Really saw her, and the toll the past few years had taken on her. She had lost over 20kgs, looked extremely tired and overwrought, and her eyes had lost some of their famous sparkle. She was struggling to go on with this version of her life. And this wasn't an easy decision for her either. For someone so independent and fierce, to move out of her home permanently, was a really big deal. I came back crying again, but this time my tears were different. There was no anger anymore. How could I blame my Mom for any of this? She was doing her best in these impossibly difficult circumstances. And this lifestyle was not sustainable for her. She needed to be in a place that could take some of the responsibility and load off her. She wasn't even asking me to give up my dreams and take care of them. All she was asking me was to choose an easier option for herself. How could I deny someone I loved of what gave them peace? How could I live with myself if I ever did that?

And so, this time when the conversation came up again, I told her that I was okay with whatever she decided. This was not easy for me at all, but I would do it for her. Even if the place she chose was outside Bangalore. I offered to go look at places with her. I told her that I would still do whatever I could to help them and visit as often as I could. I do not know where this road leads all of us. But I have learned that not everything is about me. I am grateful to have so much love in my life, and I will try my best not to control outcomes, but to simply let things be and accept them as they happen.