From the vortex of grief: The voids of pain

Four months have passed since that dreadful day in November.  At times, I feel that I've fully accepted this "new normal". But my grasp on reality is fragile. Like hanging on to a cliff's edge by holding on to a few bushes. The leaves snap, and I go careening down, not knowing if I'll survive or be smashed to smithereens. Then, I find another handhold or foothold, and feel secure for a while, till I go tumbling yet again. And so it goes.

Today is one of the falling days. As was yesterday and the day before. Sometimes, the trigger is merely seeing someone else's reality. A friend said to me "When I go home, my parents take care of everything. I love that carefree feeling." I struggled not to break down then and there, and suppressed the howls of anguish that threatened to erupt. Here I was discussing diapers and bedpans with my Mom, and planning out all the things I had to do over the weekend and coming. Would I ever have that carefree feeling again? Probably not. And yet, I longed for it.

Another time, someone said "Oh, My dad called me today, and we spoke for a really long time". I had tears in my eyes. For months, I had struggled with the void of no contact from my Dad. Often, I would automatically reach to dial his number, only to realize with a shock that he was in the hospital and his phone was with me. I would go to that chat and look at the last message he had sent, scrolling back to the past and sometimes crying. I had once blocked him on Whatsapp, because he sent too many forwards. Oh, what would I not give today, to get a message, any message, from him! Last week, I gave him back his old phone, because I thought he'd recovered enough to text and call. A few days ago, I finally received a text from him and was overjoyed. I sent 5 messages in reply. And then, half a day later, my Mom told me that she had sent those messages. She said that my Dad could not use his phone. He did not recognize it and kept saying that everything looked different on this new phone. (It was his old phone, he was mistaken) I was heartbroken. I had assumed that he would slowly recover and go back to the person he had been, but now, I realized that some things may never be the same. I had to accept this new version of my father.

Another: "I'm going home next week." No matter where I lived, the first association with the word home is my parents' place. That place, the food, my parents' presence, all of it is so closely connected to my identity. This was what made me stay in Bangalore all my life. This was what made me commute from home to my workplace that was 40kms away. I did it every day, just for that feeling of "home" at the end of the day. This was what made me come back to visit them every now and then even when my college was 60km away and my one way commute was 4 hours. This was what made me so happy when I moved from across the city to a place 8km from theirs. And yet, I had no "home" now. My permanent address has always been, and is still their place. And now, I am forced to confront how impermanent all of it is. I watch the house through the CCTV camera, and it feels so empty, just like the gaping void within me where there once was love, warmth and a place I could always go to. 

Last Saturday, I went to one of his physiotherapy sessions. A group of people lifted him and brought him to a standing position, and asked him to try and take a step. He looked so frail, his legs like sticks, back bent over, head falling forward. I could not stop crying. There was a world of difference between the father I had four months ago, and the one I had now. I understood the term "painful joy" then. It was the first time I saw him standing, and I was grateful, even though he was held up by many people. Four months ago, I didn't even know if he would be alive for the next few days. I was so happy that he made it till here. Yet, my heart ached for the active and strong father I had. The man who would come to visit me on some pretext or the other every month. Wearing the same blue jacket, and carrying the same ragged grey bag. He would never stay for long, but just seeing him would make my day. I don't know if he will ever turn up at my doorstep now, and that has left such a gaping void in my life.

Whether I think of the past or future, I inevitably feel sad. Last month, it was my third wedding anniversary, and as we watched our wedding video, I broke down and wept. This was just three years ago. He looked so happy and cheerful. And look at him now. When I think of the future, there is a cloud of uncertainty that I just can't see through. Will he be able to attend my graduation? Will he be able to travel or go on vacations with me? If I have kids, will he be around to see them or play with them? I just don't know, and the thought of having to go through major milestones without him at my side makes everything seem pointless.

I am struggling with social interactions, going to happy occasions, and even talking to people casually. All of these bring up memories of good times and subsequently pain, and it is far easier for me to avoid such interactions than to confront my demons. But change is inevitable. Some changes are gradual or positive, and we are able to accept them easily. Others are shocking and painful, and we struggle with them. We long for the "good old days", even if in the past we seldom appreciated them. We look at others, and bemoan our horrible fate. We think about the future and feel sad about all the things that wouldn't happen because life took this sudden and unprecedented turn. 

Sometimes, it feels impossible to be happy, or even normal. It feels impossible to get through even a single day without running into these demons. They seize me, and evoke in me anger, jealousy and frustration. And then, those recede, and pain and sorrow come back. Along with the feeling that I am an awful person. Because I yelled at that friend who was trying to reassure me by saying "everything will be fine". Or because I chickened out of a close friend's wedding at the last moment, and I know that person felt bad. Or because I felt jealous of a person who was nothing but nice to me. Such things make me feel worse, because I don't want to add to the negativity in this world. That is the last thing I want to do. 

Having lived through this for months now, I recognize what my triggers are. And so, I have started being honest with people. I turn down a social invitation immediately and explain myself as best as I can. Sometimes, I ask a person to text/call me back after a while, and that could be anywhere from a few days to a few months. I myself offer to reach out when I feel like talking. With other people I am close to, I even mention some of the things that are triggers for me so that they can avoid them in conversation. If something makes me angry/jealous in the middle of an interaction, I excuse myself and take a few seconds, a few deep breaths. In that moment, I try not to say anything unkind to the other person. And sometimes, when I still do, I try and apologize to the person later. Despite all this, I know that I cannot live in isolation, and that there will still be things that trigger me and send myself spiraling. And during those times, I let myself fall, and then try and get back on my feet. Right now, it is just about surviving for me. To put one foot in front of another, no matter how many times I stumble.