EFML: Thanksgiving 2021

 Another year of my life rolls by today, and I return to this yearly ritual, a little afraid. Afraid that I will look deep into my soul, and be unable to find anything to be grateful for. What then? I do not know. I will try though.

November clouds my vision with tears, but it also makes me look at the rest of the year in awe. I will channel that awe in writing this. I am grateful for all the time I spent this year with my parents. Grateful for all the Mom cooked food I got to eat. Grateful that I lived close enough to visit whenever I felt like it, at whatever time or day. Grateful for all that I achieved, and for all the happiness that brought to my parents. In October, when I shared that I had been awarded a prestigious fellowship, my Dad was overjoyed. He gave me a gift to remember the day by. On 7th November, when I told him that I had won a prize in a singing competition at my apartment, he told me that he wanted to listen to the song I had sung. On 8th, he asked me what was the prize that I got. Every small step of my success and progress, in whatever arena, gave my parents so much happiness, and for that I am extremely grateful.

I was feeling particularly despondent yesterday, because there was a gaping emptiness where these two people had always stood, cheering me on. Now, my Dad was in pain most of the time, and my Mom reflected that pain. Everything I did seemed in vain. I hated this birthday, and I told my friend I wished I'd never been born. But yesterday morning, I woke up to my Mom's call. It jolted me out of bed, and I feared the worst. But I heard my Dad's voice, croaking out Happy Birthday. My eyes filled up, and I did not have the heart to tell him he was off by one day. My Mom also wished me, not realizing the date. I thanked them both, and even though that wish had been on the wrong day, the fact that they thought of me amidst all their agony and suffering meant everything to me. I am really grateful for this moment, and for how unconditional parental love is. It gives me the strength to go on.

I am thankful that my life had so many dimensions to it. I am thankful for all the books I read this year, and all the music that I learnt. I am thankful for the few times I traveled this year, and all the joy those trips brought me. 

I am especially grateful to have my husband in this difficult period. He has been my strength, solace and cheer. Sometimes, I feel unable to do simple things, incapacitated by grief. After going to the hospital, getting out of the car seems impossible. Getting out of bed, taking a shower, eating the next meal, all of these seem too difficult, too daunting. A couple of days back, I had drafts in my mail composed over the weekend, and somehow I couldn't bring myself to hit send. Sometimes, I cry, for hours and hours, my tears unstoppable, lost to everything. Sometimes I refuse to talk, not a word, not a response, sitting still like a statue. I zone out in the middle of conversations, I struggle at making decisions, I am unable to focus on work. All of this is so uncharacteristic of me, and I don't even recognize myself. But my husband has been so graceful in handling this stranger that I've become. He is kind, patient and comforting. When I wake up in the middle of the night from yet another nightmare, I reach blindly for his hand. That hand that always holds mine, offering me everything I need in that moment.

I am also grateful to all the people- friends, family and colleagues- who have supported me in whatever ways they could. I am grateful for even the tiniest word of comfort, even if at that moment I was beyond consolation and hope. I am grateful to the few friends who write to me, friends who I have met only through their beautiful words. I am grateful for all the moments of serendipity, when I felt like someone was watching over me. 

Lastly, I am grateful for the person this path is leading me to become. I am still not grateful for what happened to my Dad, and I don't think I can be for a long time to come. But I believe that I am changing, shaped by so much suffering and pain, and I don't think this change is a bad one. I think that it is bringing me out of the self-absorbed shell I used to inhabit. I fear the coming year a lot, because it is shrouded in uncertainty. But I hope that it makes me a gentler and kinder human being.

I end this post with a Rumi quote: The wound is the place where the light gets in