Grief exacting
Last December a day after Christmas I lost my dear father. It was not a shock. He had been suffering from Parkinson’s for over five years and had been bed-ridden for a good part of the last two. Yet when he passed it was a shock to realize I now lived in a world where my father was gone. At the time I wrote these lines for his departure:
We lost our dear Papa and my sister and I cremated him yesterday. While we all - including my brave mother - are relieved that he’s freed from his suffering, we miss him terribly.
He was a kind king among men, an uncommonly attentive army doctor, a loyal friend, an amazing father and the best hugger ever!!
Yesterday I wanted to tell everyone to stop everything and stand up as my father passed. But the world moves on - as it should and as he would have urged of us. If you ever met him, please do remember the good times.
A big thank you to all for your loving notes, messages & thoughts.
I continue to be reminded of his loss almost daily. I am comforted by the fact that he is not suffering and that he lived a long and happy life - filled with love. Besides as a dear friend - having lost his own parents rather young - pointed out to me as I was complaining about ageing parents, “You’re lucky to have ageing parents!" I have not forgotten that and I treasure that privilege.
Yet during this period of grief I was reminded of a distant cousin who lost his father at a ripe old age as well, but who wailed with a hurt that spoke of much more. He was not close to his father in an emotional or psychic sense; if anything their relationship was quite troubled. So I wondered if the loss was one of losing what he actually never had, or could have been. Maybe he imagined that one day his father would demonstrate his pride in his son, or say how much he loved him, perhaps even give the son permission to be happy without a burden of guilt. His grief made me wonder about all the open questions - now to remain unanswered - that made him inconsolable.
The thing is when parents pass it is the end of an era. A period, not a comma, at which point our conversations are halted. All is done and further explanations, clarifications, corrections, scoldings, forgiveness, demands or apologies are not possible. We have what we have. The few of us who are lucky by a simple accident of birth are able to find peace in the realization of the unconditional gifts our parents gave, the end of their suffering and the memory of good times.
But for the rest who sought or hoped for better answers from their parents must make their peace with this grief’s incompleteness; and that there may never be a satisfying answer or closure coming from the parent, no matter how well deserved. That elusive peace will have to be hunted down and integrated within but without any help from the parent who has left in a final relief from any debts they owe us. Now the baton is truly passed and we must find our own way. Why? Because we can. Because we owe that happiness and release to ourselves. Because, if that is too hard then, we have to remember that we owe that peace to those who have a rightful expectation of our presence - our other loved ones.
Even as I sat vigil for my father, I wrote these lines. But they are as much for my distant cousin as for anyone who loses a parent and struggles for closure. Sometimes we have to hardwire our own peace - if only for those who love us who are still around and need us to show up. I don’t know how it’s done but this poem is for all those who struggle with this as the death of a parent leaves more than mere physical destruction in its wake.
Cycles
Death brings fluids, bares bodily distractions gummed on a frail skin
Uncontrolled, stench filled, raucous
Who can cleanse accumulations of a lifetime
Suppurations of grievances so old
So many unforgiven hurts, grudges, mistrusts
The body fights for breath
The living hold breaths to fight
Let explode our questions various
As the procession to a final peace walks on by
Those looking on can hardly swallow
Bristle, struggle and demand answers against this quiet
But there is only a silence
A deafening silence where we scratch the surface so our fingers bleed
Desperate for answers we will never have
No one owes us those; they’ll simply pass
We stand left behind to rebuild a brokered peace
Or fester with what we won’t step away from
The crematory pyre will burn a hole
Letting bleed away all possible meaning in this too short a life
Or choose to let it calm our hearts as it extinguishes it all!
—
Reena
Originally written: December 2020
Beautifully written