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| Circa 1979, Berrien Springs, Michigan |
“Trust. Let go. Enjoy the ride”
In the days following her passing I dreamed of mom repeatedly. Most of the dreams were of her miraculous return home, where our family would care for her until she was fully healed,—the joy shattered by waking into reality. These dreams haunted me for months, the narratives changing slightly each time adding to my pain and anxiety. The following November, I dreamed that I was in a bookstore in the early evening, the darkness had settled in as I searched for something to pique my curiosity. I was about to pick up a book when I noticed a large window peering out toward a busy intersection. A woman had walked up to cross the street carrying packages of Christmas gifts. When she turned I caught a glimpse of her unmistakable profile. It was mom as she had been when I was five, wearing that dark green winter coat, the coat I would look for as she’d pick me up from kindergarten. I called out “mom” and she turned and our eyes locked. She looked sad as if she knew what I was requesting, she gently shook her head trying to explain as if telepathically. She held in her right arm a large plush toy cat, which I knew instinctively was for Chelly. She gestured, pointing with her left hand to a book which was right in front of me, a book I had read and reread since childhood. It was a story about a long journey fraught with difficulty but where hope and courage at last persevere. I understood what she was saying to me.
Those early days were raw, I kept my emotions to myself, and read a great deal about death and how others learned to live with their own loss. It did help me, not that questions were answered but the shared experiences were healing. With every passing day from the point of her departure, the space between us seemed to become larger. Even the first weekend without her felt like turning a corner into territory that was new and unfamiliar. The years go by but the time lapse ceases to have any meaning, everything is a blur because every day is essentially the day after she passed or at least that’s how it felt. Life before and life after. Mom’s absence took its toll on my sister and father, each of us negotiating her loss in the most personal and painful ways. She was the heart and soul of our family, so there was a great deal of silence between us that only mom could bridge with her grace and love.
“Trust. Let go. Enjoy the ride” were her final instructions to me. I hold those words close, I’m doing my best to heed her instruction. Ten years on, life continues in all its poetry, we live and laugh and dream. She is now dreaming other dreams and in time we too will be dreaming other dreams with her.
Posted by: Anil
Photo: © Anandaraju Family Archives