While the rest of the world is listening to Taylor Swift's songs, I have been drowning myself in one song — You're Gonna Live Forever In Me.
"Parts of me were made by you, and planets keep their distance too.
The moon's got a grip on the sea.
And you're gonna live forever in me, I guarantee, it's your destiny."
Hearing the song did not just let me remember things. It also made me realize how much I miss my mother. It has been 3 weeks since she left me, but I still have so many questions that I know I will never find the answers to. Some people probably have it figured out, but I still have not. Maybe because sometimes, it is easier to just throw stupid questions out in the air than face the answers right in front of us.
How much of your character is taken away from you when your mother dies?
I am pretty sure that I am never going to be the same person as I was when my mother was still alive. I am not certain if it is a good thing or a bad thing. Honestly, I do not care. But I want to know how much of my whole thing did she take with her and how much is left with me now. I read once that us — the children — were inside our mother's tummies only for nine months, but their hearts forever. I think it is true because I felt it. But if she kept me in heart for so long, what happened when she died? When she left this lonely cruel world, did she take a part of me that she loved the most? And if yes, does that make her happy up there? Does being allowed to take something from the earth — from the people she loved — make dying worth it?
I also ask sometimes, how exactly can you move on and live a life with that gaping hole in your chest?
They say you cannot really get over a loss of a loved one — that you just get used to it. But do you, really? Do you really just get the hang of not ever talking to the person who witnessed how you achieved your greatest successes and made the most unforgivable mistakes but loved you all the same? Then why do I feel so terrible when something great happens, and I just realize that I can no longer call my mother to tell her about it? I can tell other people, yes. But no one can replace my mother. Her words of encouragement and pure adoration. The assurance that she is proud of me no matter what. The hugs and kisses translating that everything is going to be okay — that it only gets better. Even if it really does not.
How is it possible to finally accept that you are going to spend the rest of your life without her?
Growing up, my mother was no nonsense, and all about raising me to be exceptional woman. I was always expected to be above standard, even with whatever chaos that surrounded me at any given time. It was no secret that she loved me more than anything in this world and as I got older, my mother suddenly shifted to be a friend; someone I could call and she was always there. The loyalty was unmatched. She was my best friend.
A parent's death is never easy. But this one, was definitely hard to swallow. It doesn't get easier to process.
You won't feel like you can relate to anyone anymore. This may come across as a bit selfish, but after an unexpected death — especially both of your parents — you become a shell of yourself. And you start to subconsciously not want to deal with anyone. Unless they've been through it. No one understands how you feel, so you sort of file everyone in a category as just someone being kind during your current hardship. And in a weird, completely unselfish way, you do not want them to. You even start to think of ways that you can get "Thank you, I really appreciate it," stamped for automatic reply.
But the fact is, everyone feels sad for you and they all want to support you. But because the situation isn't exclusive to them as it is to you, you find yourself uncomfortable with the comfort and feeling alone. I remember chatting with Neeraj and telling him:
"The hardest part of this whole ordeal, is that you've been ripped apart, and you can't breathe, and your whole world is falling apart. And to everyone around you, it's just another day."
Particularly, I remember receiving group chat messages of the usual memes or videos we'd often share and looking on social media and seeing my entire feed being completely normal. And it's hard. Because to you, nothing is normal anymore.
On the day my mom died, the community came out of the woodwork. And I mean that in the most literal form. We had people come from all over the country, some asking how they can contribute to anything, food was coming from every corner of the city, and flowers and cards and messages and calls. You never know how much you are loved and valued until this moment. I even had friends I hadn't seen since high school to come to my mother's funeral service. All the love is incredible and it got me through for sure. I had friends and family who were there for me and checked on me everyday, no matter how much I didn't want to talk. But I also had friends and family that I would have been that supportive person for, that I never heard from — some even to this day. My mother had 11 brothers and sisters, 7 of them passed away, and the whole 4 came to her funeral. But no matter what, family drama will come to the surface that people cling to. Jobs will wonder when you're coming back because you just have to get those emails out. And companies will apologize for the death, but still want their money no matter what kind of situation you've just got into. Some people who claim to be your best friends might not be there to hug you in person because they're busy with their lives, some of them might also busy complaining and comparing your sadness to theirs — that will make you look very very selfish if you get upset. They'll text me sending long messages saying "You are not alone," or "I will hug you soon," at the end of paragraph but fuck it. Who cares? The fact is you are sitting on your bed, alone, and not a single soul is there with you because it is your life anyway. It is not theirs. And you'll be very grateful because you have someone who truly understands you, who's really putting your comfort above anything. By all means, you still want hugs, but his presence even if it's only through video calls every night until you fall asleep; it means so much to you.
Friends will become question marks, family will become strangers, and situations become accentuated. But in a time where you need all the support, you have to not let that disrupt your energy. You are not obligated to comfort anyone, no matter how strong you are. And you do not have to take on anything that doesn't help you heal. All you can do is focus on the people who supported you and loved you. Let any disappointment be background noise.
Yet, the support you receive will be a direct reflection of you and your parents.
In life, you know that people love you. But in death, you see that people love you. My goodness guys, my mom and dad was really loved. My circle from home and college and my adult life were unbelievably encouraging and it is amazing to see and feel. I learned, and cannot stress enough, how important it is to let people be there for you and be open to whatever support that they offer. And when I sat down to think about the bare component as to why that is, I discovered it's all a direct reflection of who my mother and father were to them and who I am to people who have been along my life's journey.
They say the following weeks after the funeral is the hardest part — and that couldn't be more true. The dust has settled, you're buried with your parents' financials and expenses and belongings and you are closing out affairs and you're left with your thoughts, all while simultaneously having to discuss the death over and over again in order to do so. You have to mention the death — by force — way too often, and you met with "Aww, I'm sorry to hear that" at every turn. And as a cherry on top, you have to carry on with life — go to work, be a good spouse (maybe), and maintain the lifestyle you've created. It's overwhelming for the average psyche, and you will find yourself an emotional wreck. Everyone will tell you they are here for you, and if you need anything you can call, but it falls on deaf ears. And before you know it, you find yourself depressed. Sure you will find yourself laughing again and smiling, but it's all forged. People you see day-to-day will convince themselves you're back to your old self, and you've probably tricked yourself into thinking that you are too.
But you are not.
There will be good days and there will be bad days — and eventually, the good days will add up. But suffering, failure, loneliness, sorrow, discouragement will all become a part of the journey. Taking care of your mental health is the priority, and you will have to figure out how to navigate its management (which I am still trying to do).
In the loving arms of my parents, here I present you — the newest version of our family picture.
September 15, 2023.
