I am at a retreat with my sister in the lush forest of Dehradun, India. I recognize the privilege of having a sister and being able to spend this time with her during this period in my life.
Today marks a month since Dad left the earthly realm. It has been a month of see-saw emotions. It is as if one eye is sad and the other is grateful. The sadness is understandable; the gratitude is for the life he lived, the people he touched, and how he is being remembered—for the love he bestowed on all and the generosity of his spirit. I also feel deeply grateful for how his crossing over to the other realm took place. Guru is gracious. Even in their last moments, our parents remain role models, teaching us how to live.
I recognize the Grace.
I feel the Grace.
Yet, the sadness persists.
Maybe it is too early.
After all, it’s been barely a month.
Over the last week, I have deeply contemplated the term “home.” What does it truly mean to have a home? Is it merely a physical structure, or is it something more profound? The house remains, but without the presence that made it home, it no longer feels like a sanctuary. I am left searching for a sense of belonging.
When my maternal grandmother passed away in 1996, my mother was with me. She wept uncontrollably, and it was heart-wrenching to hear her repeatedly say, “I have become an orphan. I have no one.” I would gently reassure her, saying, “Mum, Dad, and your children are with you. You have all of us.” But she would respond, “You are not my parents.” There was nothing I could say; I simply did not understand the depth of her loss. Feeling helpless, I called my friend, a psychiatrist, who explained my mother’s condition and advised me on how to support her through her grief.
Today, I find myself in that very boat. Back then, I couldn’t grasp or truly feel the weight of what my mother was telling me. Her pain was beyond my understanding because I had not walked in those shoes. Now, I am experiencing that profound loss firsthand. I can only hope that I was gentle and compassionate with my mother during her time of grief, even though I couldn’t fully comprehend her suffering.
My father’s passing has plunged me into profound introspection. I find myself questioning what constitutes normalcy in the wake of such loss and grappling with a new understanding of grief. In reflecting on my own experience, I recognize a deep need to apologize to friends who have previously faced the loss of their parents. I now comprehend, with a newfound empathy, the depth of their sorrow—an understanding I previously lacked. Moving forward, I am committed to being more compassionate, more sensitive, and more patient, carefully considering my words and actions. This journey through grief has taught me the importance of kindness and the need to honor the pain of others with the same depth of empathy that I now seek for myself.
Parents are like that tall banyan tree, offering shade and comfort that we often take for granted until it’s no longer there.
