Like waves crashing on to the shore, your memories hit me with their fierce force at times and make me stumble under their unexpected onslaught. Though the frequency has lessened, the intensity has not. There are periods of times I happily go about my daily routine and then there are those dark moments that cast a shadow on everything bright, plunging the sun into the sea at noon. I dread this blackness, the sheer nothingness of it chokes me and I forget to breathe for a while.
The finality of your going away hits me, knowing there is no way you will be back with me in this lifetime scares me, makes me realize the severity of my loss and I can feel my heart sink to the bottom of my rib cage, collapsing with grief, deflated like a balloon with a tear.
I find your pretty white hair on the keyboard of my laptop you used to love scratching with your sharp nails and I forget to type. Walking into a room, I spy your favorite toy, the one your Didi had wanted to put with you in the incinerator but the man at the cemetery had refused citing some excuse and I can’t stop my tears from flowing down my cheeks.
Listening to the song that was playing on the radio during your last car ride to the hospital brings a smile to my face because you were there with me when I had heard it last but it also breaks my heart. I missed you so much today that I could think of nothing else; I had to hold you in my arms one last time so I opened the urn and held your ashes in my hands. Forgive me for this intrusion but it did help the panic subside.
Since your going away, there have been a lot of waking hours, unaccounted for from my days. I sit down to read a book but after a couple of hours I look down at the unopened book in my lap and wonder what’s the matter with me, or is it the clock’s fault for racing ahead of me.
After a month’s mourning I have started going to the park for my walk, late in the evenings. The first day was bad, I could manage only 15 minutes of strolling but after a week it has increased to 25 minutes. I have made a furry friend in the park, his name is Brownie. I talk to him about you, my Sparky baby, and he listens. He sits next to me on the lawn and lets me scratch behind his ears and on top of his head.
I have converted the balcony into a mini garden in your memory and have planted a few indoor plants in containers. I talk to them and tell them stories about you, they seem to enjoy them because my garden looks green, bright and cheerful. You have made a decent gardener out of me, I no longer have black thumbs
By Sulekha Rawat