Hear Me Out

“I need to see you today because I just need to feel better and I think talking to you will help,” she said tearfully, looking very anxious, as she walked in without a prior appointment. I looked at my schedule and couldn’t figure out how I could fit her session in, but mentally worked things out, seeing how much of a crisis she was in.

After winding up a few sessions, came her turn. A woman in her early 60s, her husband dealing with a terminal illness, she was showing a mix of caregiving burnout, grief, with a gripping fear of losing her loved one. I could tell that she was used to being the woman who put up a brave front, never showed her vulnerabilities to others, served with a smile, and yet was anguished from within.  

She spoke about her husband’s illness, the impact his diagnosis had on her, the several hospital visits alone with him; the children after all are settled abroad. Copious tears flowed and she apologized for them, as is expected from someone who rarely cries in front of someone.

The catharsis continued, since there was so much to unpack on her end. She mentioned his anger and irritability towards her, and the lack of appreciation or connection she felt in the face of his illness. It appeared they were both lonely in their own corners of their world, struggling in the reality of an illness that was about to cause an upheaval in their lives.

“Yesterday, someone was mentioning at the dinner table how they were caught up in the midst of a riot.” She said.

It transported her back to early 1980s when she was in a similar situation. As a newlywed she had taken the bus to meet her parents since her husband was posted elsewhere on the job. On the way back, a riot broke out where there was arson and looting, and the passengers had to fend for themselves. It was the age of no cell phones, and her in-laws didn’t have a landline even. To say she was traumatized would be an understatement, because she said she had frozen in her tracks till a kind lady offered to take her to her home and have her call her parents.

She went along, in the bylanes of a crowded market in the old parts of the city as the woman ushered her to climb the stairs to the first floor where the telephone was. Not knowing any better, she went along, called her mother and soon she was in the safety of her parents’ home, even though the last few hours on the road, feeling helpless, lost, and fearful had left an indelible mark in her mind.

As she spoke about that incident from more than 40 years ago, she said she mentioned it on the dinner table, talking about how impacted she was, how she felt when her in-laws didn’t reach out to check why she had not returned home, and how afraid she was, not knowing whether the lady who had offered help had the right intentions or not. With all the years of being raised with so much protectiveness, she was naïve and vulnerable, and couldn’t discern right from wrong.

The husband got really upset at her, becoming defensive, angry, and feeling the pinch that she was “blaming” his parents. She withdrew into a shell, choked on her tears, and felt her heart becoming really heavy.

This had happened the previous night, before she came by to see me. That episode at the dinner table had left her feeling stifled, suffocated, and misunderstood. We processed it in session where we recognized that all she needed from her husband was to feel heard, for him to feel her pain, to put himself in her shoes and see how terrified she was. That’s all she needed.

She came by two days later, beaming. She had gone home and told her husband that she had met me, and that she realized what she needed. She told him this:

“I want you to just hear me out, hear my pain, hear my story. I am not blaming anyone, I am not holding anyone responsible for what happened that night. I just want you to hear me out, without letting your feelings getting the better of you, without feeling helpless and frustrated that you can’t “fix” this because it happened 40 years ago. Just imagine what I went through as a 21 year old, that’s all.”

She narrated the story to him, tears flowing. He heard her out silently, letting her speak her heart out, for it had carried the burden and the pain for so long.

As she finished, she asked him gently, “Do you have anything to say?”

His eyes welled up, “I could have lost you forever, if you hadn’t found your way back.”

She felt a huge weight lift, knowing her husband could finally “hear” and understand what that young girl went through, not knowing whether she would meet her loved ones again. He felt her terror, the panic, the guilt of not being able to return to her in-laws that night. But most of all, he felt the sadness she was carrying for all these years, of bearing this pain all by herself. That is all she needed him to know. And to know that he loved her deeply which she felt in his quivering voice when he spoke about how glad he was that she was here, by his side.

They held hands in silence, as she felt her husband tighten his grip on her hand, in a way saying, I never want to let you go, till death do us apart.

And in that moment, true healing happened.

There is a reason I am writing this story today. Because I am committing myself to write more about how couples struggle with feeling unheard, dismissed, disrespected, not empathized with, feeling misunderstood, criticized, attacked, blamed, leading to fractured relationships. When I witness conversations like the one I just wrote about, I feel hopeful that collectively people will be more present with their partners, learn to communicate from the heart, with genuineness, empathy, compassion, and love.

It’s so powerful to hear words such as: “I hear you. I understand your pain. I can see why you feel this way. You are not alone, I am with you.” Trust me 😊

The Changing Face of Grief

When someone you truly, deeply love passes on, the gushing memories built over the years make the initial days, and months so inextricably difficult. Every small detail, a smell, a sighting, a song triggers you into missing them. Wherever you look, you remember how you spent time with them, how the daily rituals were your thing, how occasions were celebrated, how even the smallest moment was so special.

And the years start piling up. Grief changes shape, but still remains, sometimes giving the illusion that we may be doing better, and sometimes it hits like a ton of bricks. There are moments I catch some fears making their presence felt, “I hope I don’t lose the hold on these memories as I age.” A thin yet menacingly impenetrable layer of dust starts accumulating on those tiny details which were so a part of you. And you fight to hold on.

“Everyday is Mother’s Day,” I would tell Mom, even though we would have a special ritual of going for a Sunday brunch as a family every weekend. But I would fuss over her a bit extra that day, writing a post, taking pictures, archiving them for later, so that I could look back on them and smile, and be grateful for having had the good fortune of being her daughter.

Today, her absence obviously caused an ache to my heart, especially since I am also reeling from another bout of flu. She would have done her bit to nurse me back to health: home remedies, ensuring I had eaten, or just to check in to see how I was doing.

When a chance allowed, later in the day, I went out to get a breath of fresh air, and I saw groups of people all around, daughters and mothers shopping together, generations of a family having a meal together, and some of us, grieving the loss of our mother, and remembering them by sipping on a cup of tea, their favorite beverage.

So, if I had to face my irrational fear of aging taking over and the memories getting lost in the passage of time, today was the day. Even though her scent fades from her sarees I still wear, her lilting voice not calling out to us now, there are so many ways she is etched, indelibly on my heart.

My awareness shifted to the several ways in which Mom lives on, eternally, and the universe often reminding me of her continuing love and presence.

- Through the love of my sisters and the wisdom of my father. In the most difficult times, they have pointed me in the direction that Mom would have wanted me to take. And yet, they worry silently like her, but show an exterior of strength

- In the wondrous realm of nature, amidst the lush green trees and beautiful landscapes of Kerala, where I went for a health retreat. I would do a walking meditation for 30 minutes twice a day, and would walk by a large tree, with the most beautiful purple flowers, whose canopy of leaves was so spread out that even in the scorching sun, there would be a calming freshness beneath the shade. I would invariably stand still below the tree, close my eyes, feel the breeze, and the stillness within. A smile would creep up, and I would often say, this is how I would feel in Mom’s presence. Protected, safe, calm, happy, and strong.

In this context, these lines from the old Yesudas song, to me, are the embodiment of Mom:

"मधुबन खुशबू देता है / The garden shares its fragrance

सागर सावन देता है / The ocean gives us the life-giving monsoon

जीना उसका जीना है, जो औरों को जीवन देता है/ A life worth living is one that makes others feel alive

सूरज न बन पाए तो, बन के दीपक जलता चल / If you cannot be the sun, live like a light-giving lamp..."

फूल मिले या अंगारे, सच की राहों पे चलता चल / Whether on a path strewn with flowers or hot coals, keep treading the path of truth...

This song was written for our tribe…

I was reading a book which talked about the healing effect of being out in nature. How when you are gazing at the beauty of nature in awe, be it in the mountains of Ladakh under a clear, star studded sky, or the sunrise in Kanyakumari, or in a forest in Kerala, you are periodically being nudged out of yourself to think about connectedness to something bigger than you. People who are open to such experiences are cognitively wired to grow and learn and move on, and do something that feels transformative, enabling them to transcend life’s struggles and change our self-image. I finally knew what the author meant, because I was experiencing it every moment that I was outside, awe struck. And could also resonate with the Eskimo legend, “Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy.”

- Mom, as the President of the Residents Welfare Association, had put signages with uplifting quotes on them. The one I pass by every morning that I go for a run says, “Always remember, today is going to be a great day.” I could hear it in her voice

- I am known to be the recluse in our neighborhood. But on that chance meeting with someone on the road, if they get to know where I live, I am often met with, “You are Mrs. Parashar’s daughter!!! Such a lovely woman she was. We miss her so much.” Even after 5 ½ years. I walk back home with a smile because I can just see Mom laughing and chatting with everyone around. And continuing to do all the wonderful work for the residents that she was known for.

- When Vatsala (Mom’s namesake) wished me “Happy Mother’s Day, Daadi,” I am reminded of how Shaurya and Mona have ensured that there will always be a mini-Mom prancing around me, who is as funky, fiery, chirpy, and happy as Mom was.

- When I close my eyes and ask her about important decisions in life, and I still feel her wisdom showering down on me. The step I take then is resolute, firm, unshaken. Even if it is my heart and mind’s imagination, at least I feel the strength coursing through my veins. I know I just need to follow my Mom’s ingrained-over-the-years-wisdom, my North Star.

- The commitment to work I bring every day, inculcated by Mom, to do seva, be there for others, to speak every word with kindness, and to show integrity every moment, every step of the way.

- In being there for family and friends, even though there may be times I may have faltered on that in the past year, but to somehow find my way back to them, to provide and seek comfort and solace, and to grow some roots so that soon, collectively, we grow akin to that tree in Kerala, the Neermathalan.

I was jolted out of my thoughts when the laughter of the family next to me rang in my ears. I smiled, feeling happy for them, acutely aware that in the shifting sands of time, I was once in their place, with lightness in my being, cherishing the moment, feeling the bonds of family wrap themselves around me, and yet, things were so similar and yet so confusingly different at the same time.

I came back home, and a package was waiting for me. It was from Jassi, my boy. I opened the contents, and shed a few happy tears. He knew just how to strike a chord. We were united in grief today, as we both missed our moms, and yet, here was the most precious Mother’s Day message from him. He had sensed my fears across the silence and the distance. Or maybe these fears of losing a loved one’s memories even, had haunted him way before they had begun for me.

“Happy Mother’s Day…Well, Whom am I kidding. It is tough to be really happy on this day. However, we can always cherish the happy memories

I know aunty liked maintaining her garden, so perhaps this activity will be a nice way to remember her…”

Jassi, in his own way reminded me that every moment of being alive is a way to remember her, to honor her, to cherish her. Because it is a soul connection that will always carry me through a lifetime of smiles and tears, connected by heartstrings into infinity...