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| My Ficus plant, and Me |
This is the ficus plant on my porch. When I bought it in April last year, it was full of leaves, beautiful green leathery leaves, lush and vibrant. Over the last four months it lost all its leaves. There is some sign of new leaves, little buds, but we have a long way to go. This plant resembles my state of mind in many ways.
My mother passed away on February 15th, 2012 after a
very short fight with cancer of the unknown primary. I can't seem to get over it. May be writing this will provide some relief, may be not. It feels as if there is a big void inside me and the pain is still very raw. I can only imagine how my father is feeling, my mother and he had been together for almost 45 years. I can feel my sister's pain, she was more close to my mother than I was.
This feeling is quite alien to me. I had no idea all this emotion was inside me. I had never been very close to my parents. There was never any hugging, kissing, cuddling, or any kind of physical connection that I can remember, and I have some vivid memories from when I was 3 years old. I grew up quite emotionally distant from my parents and even though I secretly craved for display of affection, since I never got any, I never knew how to react. My relationship with my parents have been very matter-of-fact. I was born and raised to be 'the elder son' of the family. My 'job' was clear from the very first day I was born - I had to grow up, become an engineer, and succeed in life (whatever that means!). So, there was never a need for the 'girly' things in my life, nor any kind of entertainment either. And I grew up with quite a lot of sadness in my heart, some anger, and a deep sense of loss that I did not get to have the childhood my friends enjoyed. The first 30 years of my life were spent with that sadness, anger, and sense of loss. Then over the ensuing years, I actually grew up, realized that if I live in the past it does not do me any good. I realized that I had tied myself up with chains. And over the last two years, I was able to cut off all the chains of the past. I have become somewhat free to reach inside and figure out who I am. I peeled off the the layers that defined me - a daughter (son), a sister, a wife - and I started on the path of self discovery. It has been a productive journey.
My parents visited us during 2010 Christmas and stayed through till early February 2011. That was the first time I actually got to spend time with them without an emotional baggage in my mind. I was somewhat enlightened and also beyond the sense of deprivation and angst that I suffered for 30+ years. It was indeed some good time spent together. Then in September 2011, I went to Kolkata to spend the Pujas with them. I was celebrating Pujas in Kolkata after 14 years. When I landed in Kolkata and Maa was at the gate, I could see that her health was quite deteriorated. I asked her about it and she said that its not been the best but there were no major complaints. We had a great time during the Pujas except for Asthami night when she had a severe stomach pain. Indeed, she was not her usual whirlwind self. But there was no way of knowing
that cancer was eating her from the inside.
I cry as I write this. She is dead, but I still feel so helpless. We could do nothing to save her. She just died, right in front of our eyes, one day at a time. I can't forget the moments. The memory is engraved deep in my heart and in my mind. I was with her since 14th December through 19th January and then from 10th February for the last five days. I relive every day I spent with her in my mind and it hurts so much. I can't seem to be able to express it. Like I said, I never knew I was capable of this kind of pain, I was not prepared. It's like there is a parasite eating me up from the inside.
Little things remind me of her. Last night I was making bitter melon curry and I was in tears. She used to make it for me. I can't seem to get myself to cook these days. The very sight of vegetables, and meat, and rice, everything in the kitchen seem to remind me of her. What will I do? I force myself to go through the motions and even try to enjoy it. When I am cooking, I feel this deep pain that I will never be able to again pick up the phone and ask her for recipes of the dishes she used to make for me. All that is lost forever! I can't seem to find her famous cake recipe! It is so painful.
When Freo comes to lick me, he reminds me of how Maa used to cautiously allow Freo to sit close to her. She was a bit afraid of Ozzie, but very much enjoyed the attention.
I went to a one-day Vipassana class last weekend. All I did was cry. I had thought that it will be a sort of catharsis and I will be able to get over this emotional upheaval I am going through. But it did not help. I was crying for more than four of those six hours I spent there. I am so afraid of sitting for meditation right now, afraid that all the deep emotions will surface and overwhelm me. This is so strange. When I was in India during my mother's sickness, this very meditation method used to give me much peace and the strength to face the reality everyday. And now I am afraid of it! I know I cannot hide, but I am at a loss about what I can do.
The memory that is burning me up every day is her labored breathing for the last five days. When I reached Kolkata in February, she was unconscious. She was popped up against the bed, with IV running and with a catheter. Her eyes were closed and she did not acknowledge that I was there. I stayed with her every moment that night, awake by her side, touching her hand from time to time and listening to her breathing - slow and steady. Next morning her urine stopped and we took off the IV. We could not feed her, with no fluids going in and out, her blood was getting toxic by the hour. We tried to get hospice care or even a local doctor to visit us, but no avail. In India there is no hospice. There are very few end-of-life care doctors and they too were not equipped to help us. No hospital would take her. Even if they did, they would put her in ICU and out of our reach. And there was no way they could save her. She hated her 3+ month stay at AMRI and Kothari and we knew that she would have preferred to die in her own home and not alone in the hospital ICU.
They say that hearing is the last sense to go. I hope she heard us till her last moment. For we were all there, her two daughters, her husband, her siblings, her nephews and nieces, Pinky di, her loving family. I sure hoped that somehow she could tell us how she was feeling. In the last four days she developed water in her lungs and had great difficulty breathing for the fluid would clog her nose and mouth. It was excruciating to hear her labored breathing. And I carry that sense of helplessness with me even now. I did not cry then, I was composed, I was in charge, I was strong. I don't know how I did it, but I was very matter-of-fact at that time. It has hit me now, two months after she has gone. Every moment of the day I feel as if I can hear her labored breathing. It haunts me. It chokes me.
She must have suffered so much. She was just 61 and had at least 10-20 years ahead of her to enjoy her retirement. What happened? Why? I can't get my head and heart around this. She was supposed to live to see her grand-daughter's marriage! My grandmother saw her granddaughter's kids! Then why did my mother have to die so young? I know, there are no answers. It's useless to try to find answers too. But my heart does not listen. She must have suffered so much in those last days, she must have been in so much pain. On 14th February, she developed fever and it slowly started climbing. We put paracetamol IV, but the fever was recalcitrant. We watched it climb, 100, 102, 103, 104.... and when it went to 107.8, we knew we had lost her. Her brain was probably fried! She breathed her last few breaths in my sisters arms, surrounded by her loved ones.
That last breath haunts me every moment of the day. Can she come and tell me that she is OK on the other side. I am in so much pain, I feel so helpless, I could not save her. I could not even fight the disease with her. It consumed her in just one month! Over New Years 2012 we learned that the cancer had spread to her right hemur, her lungs, and some lymph nodes. And we could not find the primary, there was no treatment, it was beyond stage 4. We had lost her then.
But we did not tell her. We led her to believe that she could get OK. I feel like a liar. I feel as if I had cheated her. I can't seem to be able to forgive myself.
When we took her to meet her oncologist on Jan 6th, she was still full of hope. She wanted to take Xeloda. And she took it for 14 days. I wish she had not. May be we could have had her with us for a few more days? Who knows. Her system was so messed up with 3+ months of useless antibiotics that it was not in a condition to either fight the cancer or the side effects of the chemo drug. I stayed back for the 14 days that she took the drug. We took her to the terrace to enjoy the sun couple days during that time, but it was obvious that her health was declining. I had to leave and get back to my life in the US. So, I left on 19th January.
When I was here, I was calling twice a day to check on her health. And every day I was checking off one symptom of the pre-active phase of dying. I wish I was there, to hold her hand, to say good-bye. But I could not be there. It is a pain that haunts me. I wanted to touch her, to speak to her, to listen to her voice. My parents celebrated their last anniversary on 30th January and I was not there. The sense of loss is intense. Very intense.
When she passed away, I did all the rites, just like a son would have done. After all, she considered me as her son. But I can't forget the moment when I went to the back side of the cremation place and in a tray was her ashes - some burnt bones. They put some of those bones and ashes in couple urns for us. That memory haunts me everyday, I relive it everyday. We took her ashes to Varanasi and gave it to the Ganges. She wanted to visit Varanasi. I hope she is in peace. If only she can tell me that she is, it may ease my mind. I wanted her to be happy. But I don't know. She did not speak to me since January, she will not speak to me again.
I have her pictures here. It hurts to see her. Sometimes there is so much pain in my heart that every breath I take hurts. It feels like someone is squeezing my heart, very tightly. I returned to San Diego mid March. The first week was in a daze. I did not know where I was. I am grounded now, more so with the regular chores I have to do everyday - laundry, cooking, grocery shopping, work, meetings, etc. I have my episodes, there are days when I find myself crying all day. All I feel like is cuddle up into a small ball and cry. I do not want to talk with anyone or pick up the phone. I feel very lonely and sad. Those days seem like a mountain to go through and it feels that I will never get over it. But then I do. The next morning comes and I seem normal again. I go on with life-as-usual.
Yes, I feel like that ficus on my porch. I was bare, I had lost all my leaves. Now, there are signs of some leaves returning, but it will be a long journey ahead of me. It won't be easy. I know. It's my cross to bear. I have to just get on with it. I am not the first person on this planet who has lost her mother and I will not be the last. I do not expect sympathy, going through this is part of being alive. I will survive this, just like I have survived a lot of other challenges in life. I will someday again become green, have thick leathery leaves and many of them. For now, my ficus plant and me will travel the path to renewal together.
