JOIN USDeath is not the opposite of life
Sometimes in life, good things fall apart so other things can fall together. My father- in- law was a large-hearted, larger than life individual. He lived on his own terms, enjoyed life and living and was generous to a fault. Recently, when he suddenly passed away, we were shocked into grief and shrouded with questions that had no answers. The lockdown made things even more complicated and the subsequent helplessness rendered us angry and broken. Naturally, my husband was deeply affected. His grief was palpable; the fact that he could not be there for his father during his final hours corroded his spirit. He immersed himself in the rituals, trying to find a way out of his deep sorrow.
Rumi says, “The wound is the place where the light enters you”. As each day made way for another, it dawned on me that despite our fragility, vulnerability and moments of melancholy we humans find meaning and beauty even in the most debilitating circumstances. As all of us and especially my husband coped with the loss, I tried to anchor him home. Like most marriages, ours too was replete with friendship, gentleness, exasperations, anger, inside humour and love. However, meeting the requirements of time, our careers, children and life itself, a thin layer of routine had covered our love and marriage as the years went by.
In this time of abject grief, this love rose fierce yet tender. There was nothing I would not do to alleviate my husband’s grief. As I stood beside him enveloped in rituals, pain and memories, I realized that the layers of mundane vanished in an instant and what remained was pristine unconditional love. Yes we were facing trying circumstances, and grappling with difficult emotions and fears, yet we were facing them together. Together we rationalized, that although my father–in- law had passed away unexpectedly, he had lived a wonderful life and that he would always be a part of us in memories, thought and action.
As the days of the rituals came to an end we found our affection for each other renewed. In moments of extreme grief, we rediscovered deep love. As my father–in–law began his journey towards heaven, we could see him looking over his shoulder and smiling at us. He seemed to be saying; joy and sorrow don’t have to be mutually exclusive. As leaves become grass, the grass helps the tree attain new leaves. As we bid adieu there were tears of sadness but also tears of joy.