EFML: On grief and gratitude

It is my ritual to write a thanksgiving post every time I turn a year older. Last year, I had ten months of normal life and one really tragic month. I focused on the ten and all the happy moments they had. But this year, I've spent all 12 months under the dark umbrella of grief. There hasn't been a single day in this year where I've been untouched by sorrow, stress or worry. I've forgotten what it is to have a normal life. To have a few days of pure and unadulterated happiness and peace. What do I have to be thankful for then? 

A lot, actually. It can be really surprising to learn this, but grief and gratitude can co-exist. In the initial days following my dad's stroke, I experienced a profound sense of gratitude even for the smallest things. I was living on the edge, and felt the uncertainty of life in every breath. That actually made it easy for me to be grateful, even for the all things I'd taken for granted in the past. 

I remember ordering a few essentials in a hurry the night after he was admitted in the ICU, and when it was delivered in the wee hours of the morning amidst pouring rains, I thanked the delivery person with a fervour that I had never been able to muster in all my years of perfunctory thank yous. When I unpacked the order, I found a whole packet of chocolates inside. Not one or two, but 100 éclairs chocolates. I double checked my order wondering if I'd ordered it by mistake, but I hadn't. It was added as a complimentary item for whatever reason. In the past, I would have smiled and moved on. But that day, it felt special and warm, and I almost teared up. Such was the intensity of gratitude I felt. A couple of days after that, my dad was hovering between life and death, and I just couldn't bring myself to go home. I wanted to stay as close to him as possible, but the hospital wouldn't let more than one person stay because of covid norms. So my husband and I spent the night in his car. Sleep eluded us, and it was raining heavily outside. We could neither close the windows or open them-- the choices were mosquitoes and rain, or lack of air. After a few minutes of time slicing between the two, we headed to the hospital canteen and ordered a Maggi. There was nothing great about it, but again, I was enveloped in this powerful wave of gratitude. For the food, for the warmth, for the roof on our heads. 

Recently, both my grandfather and father were hospitalised, in close succession. I didn't tell many people this time, but the grief I felt was every bit as strong. That night, as I sat alone in the same ICU corridor from a year ago, battling the same feelings of helplessness, I got a book recommendation from a friend. It was just what I needed to read then, and I felt so grateful to be thought of and remembered by this wonderful person I'd never even met. 

As time passed, I became more thoroughly immersed in grief and solitude. I lost many friends this year, either because they were not comfortable enough to confront my grief and how I'd changed as a person, or because I couldn't be cheerful and happy with them the way they wanted. I turned down all invitations to functions and social gatherings, no matter how mad or angry or sad it made people. Because there are no shortcuts to grieving. It takes the time it takes, and I'm done feeling guilty about it. All things considered, I have no regrets. The small bunch of friends I have left are ones I trust and love more than ever, and I'm so much more grateful to have them in my life. They truly "get" me, and don't just want to be there for the good times. 

It has been a difficult year though. Last year on my birthday, I thought we'd crossed the lowest point of my father's stroke. I thought it would only get better from here. How wrong I was, and how foolish. A year later, those days seem fine compared to the agonising days that we as a family are inhabiting now. Life is reduced to mere existence. We get through one day after the other, hoping that at some point, we'll break out into the light. But this too has changed me. Last year, I was very much a cynic and a pessimist. I would always contemplate the worst case scenario. But this year, the worst case has been unimaginably bad, and I have been forced to adapt. So I try to avoid pondering and worrying about the future for the most part. And when I unavoidably do, I try to hope for something good. For a better tomorrow, one that isn't as dismal as today. For a small slice of happiness and peace. 

This year has had some very special moments though. Not moments where I was devoid of grief, but where gratitude and happiness co-existed with grief. Many of those moments are tied to music, because perhaps I learnt and related to it even before language. I had the privilege of attending a few amazing music concerts this year, and the music touched me so deeply that I wept with it. I went to many of these alone, and that was a wonderful experience too. A special mention to all the artists I had the privilege and honour to listen to - L. Shankar, Ranjani - Gayatri, Kumaresh and Jayanthi. 

 The other set of experiences that has really helped me cope this year is being around animals. I've loved dogs for a while now, but for practical reasons, we don't have one. This year, we visited a couple of places that allowed us to interact with and pet dogs, and I felt remarkably peaceful and serene after those outings. I also had the pleasure of visiting Prani, where we interacted with several animals. The experience was surreal, and made my deepavali very special. Lastly, watching the sloth bears at Hampi from a close distance was also a rare and happy occasion. I loved watching them lick the jaggery on the rocks, and then head up the rocks for their afternoon naps. Being in the presence of animals makes you realize that it doesn't take all that much to be happy. A little bit of jaggery, a good belly rub or an afternoon nap is reason enough. :) 

This was also the year where my husband and I got covid. The first time I really wanted to celebrate after my dad's stroke was my husband's birthday. He had been amazing to me during this whole time, and I was infinitely grateful to have him. I had a lot of things planned, but he tested positive the evening before. And I tested negative. So not only did our plans have to be abandoned, we couldn't even be together. I felt miserable at this quirk of fate, and cursed that at least we should have tested positive together. A few days later I got my wish, and instantly regretted it. I still have a lot of breathlessness, and my energy levels are just not the same. But it made me realise that I can't take my body or mind for granted. I have to nurture and care for them, not push them beyond limits and expect them to keep up. 

Lastly, to all the wonderful people in my life, thank you for sticking around. I know it hasn't been easy to be around me, especially in my dark periods, but I'm really grateful that you chose to stay. I couldn't have made it through this year without all your support and love. 

Here's to the last year of my twenties! As crazy, sad and happy as it may end up being, I still look forward to it. :)