The universe could certainly use some fine tuning, maybe this is the beta version we are currently experiencing. When your loved one dies suddenly, you don’t get the courtesy of a warning. No memo, no flashing lights, no smoke signals. Kedar’s death brought about a mountain of sorrow and a strange silence. My life and future completely imploded, all plans evaporated. I don’t know who I am anymore, I’m forced to build an entire new personality out of sticks and twigs.
At the moment sorrow and grief dominate. These two are not the same, impossible to explain the difference, it must be experienced. One cannot adequately explain the difference between the taste of an alphonso mango and a payari, it just has to be experienced and once lived, is etched in the mind forever.
Leaving aside mangoes for a minute (clearly I’m food driven) and getting back to the topic of death, one finds only awful things in its wake. Surely, surely there must be some humor hidden somewhere. Our family motto (as has been instilled in Gia) is “Life is suffering..tee hee ha ha”. Yes, it’s from a song, not a lofty philosophical treatise, I’m embarrassed to admit. But it encapsulates what we have tried to teach Gia – life is hard but live it with spirit. Find the joyful moments, find the humour. I’ve been woefully remiss in living this motto the past few months. Here’s a thought exercise: If Kedar could see me now, what would make him roll his eyes and just flat out laugh at me? Here are a few of the many ways my genius brings comic relief:
- The shower in one of the bathrooms was acting up, I called the plumber. He checked things there, while I stood around solemnly twiddling my thumbs. Then he asked to see the water heater. I know we have one, I say helpfully, it must be in the garage. I march over to the garage and point triumphantly at this large cylindrical structure that surely had to be a device to heat water. The plumber looks at me as one would at a slightly demented toddler and says: “that’s the water softener; you most likely have a tankless water heater.” Aah, I say, silly me. That’s the guy, pointing at a device on the wall with wires running in and out of it and mysterious lights all over its impressive body. This time he avoided my gaze, and said in a soft voice, slowly and deliberately intoning the words – “Um it is a rain sensor for the sprinkler system.” Then he leads me outside and we walk around the house till we find said water heater. Had he been here, Kedar would have been standing by watching this interaction gleefully, not saying a single word, enjoying the spectacle.
- Going on trails was a weekly activity Kedar, Mowgli, and I enjoyed. I had been unable to go since he died. A couple of weekends ago I decided its time to venture forth. Armed with water for doggo and myself, I drive away. Somewhere along the way I realize I’ve left my phone at home. No matter, I’ve been to this particular trail dozens of times, surely I can find my way. If there was a prize for the world’s worst navigator and direction sense person, I would win it hands down. Said trail is off of the road that I’m on currently, I still couldn’t find it. We returned home, tail tucked between our legs – me from sheer shame, Mowgli from extreme disappointment. This would actually have barely elicited a smile from Kedar. I once navigated us 150 miles in the opposite direction, back when we used paper maps. Compared to that, this incident wouldn’t register at all. I did go back the following weekend, armed with Google maps, and conquered the trail!
- Took Mowgli out on our usual evening walk. 3 miles this time, through various neighbourhoods. Met a few friends and neighbours, exchanged pleasantries, all was well. A little more than halfway through, I realize that my left leg is feeling a lot heavier than the right. At first, I think I must be imagining it. Careful observation says this isn’t a fevered brain, it really does feel heavier. A mini panic sets in – varicose veins? Deep vein thrombosis? Cardiomyopathy? Liver cirrhosis? Pulmonary edema? No the last 3 should have caused both legs to swell. Elephantiasis somehow? Some sort of lymphedema? I almost run home, ok run is a very fancy word for the shuffling my obese self was able to accomplish. At any rate, I ambulated as fast as the flesh would allow. Panic reigned supreme now. I stumble inside, bend down to unlace my shoes, and there it is – the left foot is encased in a thick hiking boot, the right in my regular sneakers. I would blame this on brain fog caused by grief, but honesty compels me to admit that this wasn’t the first time. Kedar would have diagnosed the problem right away, said absolutely nothing, discussed all possible dire diseases that could have caused this…all the way till we reached home.
There are many more stories to tell, but I intend to hold on to some small shred of dignity. Grief is here to stay, but tee hee ha ha continues lightening the way. Maybe this is the beta version of life, full of bugs and glitches. Mercifully, laughter still breaks through.
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