scary (probably toxic)

Now that a winter storm is approaching, I am regretting my choices to mope my way through the four days in Puerto Rico with no trips to the beach or the old city... Could I not even have opened the balcony door and spent a few hours soaking in the sun?

Why the heck was I so determined to be as miserable as possible?

Also, why do I keep listening to my mom's old voicemails. My sister asked me if I found it comforting or sad... And it hits differently at different times...

Possibly the worst thing I'm doing to myself is lurking on my mom's sibling group chat. I got added for updates when my mom was in the hospital, and people have forgotten I'm in there. Now when her four remaining sibs are making plans and carrying on about their lives without her, I feel so bad/sad/mad... I should just leave, but feel like that's another connection I'll lose.

Pic: The island-flavored picture I took of Puerto Rico IN THE AIRPORT.

among my more mundane considerations

One of the weirder things I've caught myself thinking is that now that I have my my mom's picture on the altar in addition to Scout's picture, my Baldwin votary, and all the Hindu, Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Pagan, and other spiritual paraphernalia I have going on...

no one else better die because 

I have no more room on the altar.

lightness

 J is a francophile, so while we were texting about something else, I mentioned being in Paris and she suggested I light a candle for my mom. 

I could kick myself for not thinking of it myself. I wish I had done it at Notre Dame where we visited on Monday. I've talked before about how much she loved when I translated Anatole France's short story "Le Jongleur de Notre Dame" from my high school french textbook for her.

But of course, the story doesn't take place at the cathedral, it takes place at a some abbey in rural France, so I went to the church down the street to light a candle. And then later we happened to head to Montmartre for dinner and climbed up to the Basilica of Sacré-Coeur, where I got to light another candle for my mom. 

I feel all lit up myself and the most present I've felt on this trip. Thanks for the idea, J <3.

Pic: View from the steps of the basilica. 

changing gears

It's Nu's birthday tomorrow. Nu's 18th birthday! And I woke up this morning determined to change gears. 

Actually, I woke up late this morning, having slept through my alarm for the first time in decades. Still I used the the 28 minutes I had to shower and get ready, used the hour commute to mentally prep myself, and was on time for my 8 am meeting. 

And then when I casually checked my email near the end of the meeting, I saw there was a gift card for Nu from my parents and I could barely keep it together. I wonder how far into the future my mom has arranged things...

Later, someone asked me if I had allergies. Yes, I'm allergic to sorrow.

But... Nu is home for the weekend! We've already had one requested dinner (sushi), cut one cake (pumpkin cheesecake), and done the birthday dec. 

I can't believe it has been 18 years since Big A and I walked hand-in-hand down 1st Ave to the NYU hospital where he worked as a resident, only this time it was for me to get admitted so I could get induced and we could finally meet Nu. (Like At, who was spending that night with Cousin P, Nu was about ten days over the estimated delivery date too).

Pic: Max and Huck are delirious with happiness that Nu's here. I am too.

wild, sad, and serious

I thought I'd come to the idea that walking would help me dull my pain on my own... I realize now it may have come from Cheryl Strayed's Wild, which I devoured in a single afternoon one summer. Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail is her formula for dealing with mother-loss and grief.

I should be sadder. I would be if I didn't keep forgetting that it really happened. Every time I remember, it still feels unreal. It was mom's "Boss Day" yesterday, and I could barely get through it. It felt real again and again because I couldn't call her.

I'm so relieved that there is some semblance of a ceasefire in Gaza (Doctors Without Borders reported they're still hearing bombing). Amidst the hope for healing, I keep thinking about the the nearly 60,000 children who have lost parents and how it must feel to experience that loss so violently and so young.

At stopped by--it was SLE's birthday and At needed her mom. I suggested we celebrate SLE and we talked so much about SLE we both had a good cry... and then we went to the temple with an offering of fruit, flowers, and silks just for something formal to do. At had been disinvited to the funeral by SLE's family, so I keep suggesting At and her friends need to do something to honor SLE in a way she would have enjoyed. (I know so many rites now since Amma's funeral.)

Pic: Why so serious, sweet Max? (Because Dad made him wear his glasses.)

unmapped

now that the world is descent 

the canyon floor 

joins me there as it happens

my favorite part of the future 

when waking is

an adventure, pulsing like stars

eager as her birth month of May

my vigil climbs

this mystery of mom missing

hymning words I can neither 

say nor sing, loving 

now my only way of knowing 

_________________

Pic: Holding on to a tree for dear life, the south rim of the Grand Canyon behind me. We hiked the entire South rim with only one tiny freakout when a 6000 ft drop lay two feet too close in front of me. I realized the trail was too narrow in parts (for me, anyway), so I opted to hike on the road and join back when the trail broadened again. 

one month in

Somehow... and I want to say "suddenly" it has been a month since I got that call from my sister: "Akka, Amma passed away this morning."

There have been lifetimes compressed into this month, journeys that would usually be planned for months. Sadness and (what feels like) fibromyalgia pain and constant nausea won't leave me...

And yet, every morning when I wake up, I walk myself through a reminder that this thing happened... it's a doorway I will have to enter and exit all day. 

I keep saving things to tell her on our daily chats/calls... I hear the quirky things she says in my head all the time... and honestly, I still feel very loved by my mom.

Pic: I added mom's mangalsutras to my own wedding necklace. I rarely wear mine; you can tell mom wore hers every second of her fifty-six years of marriage. (Usually, the Telugu wedding necklace has two of the disc-shaped lockets--one from the bride's parents and one from the groom's. In my mom's case while her parents gave her the typical Telugu pottu, my dad's family gave her the M-shaped Tamil thali. Although they too are Telugu, the Wandawasis have a tradition of wearing the Tamil-style thali to honor the Tamil family who fostered the heir who had been smuggled out of the Wandawasi fort when it was besieged by the British.)

Normal--Medium--Max

I've promised myself that I'll be more normal after midterm break. In the meantime, every one is just so kind. I worry that I'm failing to thank people in time and they'll think I'm taking them for granted... but also I know my people and they are all about extending grace. Friends who are close by continue to hold me up; friends who are far away have started on Round #2 of cards and things...

And I received an unusual and generous gift certificate to a medium from a friend who just had her own first highly successful visit herself. I never even thought of approaching one, but now preparing for my appointment (as yet unbooked) is all I can think of. If I have a worry, it's that I won't hear from my mom or Scout OR that I will and then I'll be addicted.

Pic: Max (barely visible here) is the best right now. He really wants nothing from me except my presence... not even my attention or awareness.

here's to the mums

I'm guilty of trying to find signs everywhere right now. The cardinals and the namesake (whom Suzanne poetically called "kindness with your mother's name") are lovely.

Not so lovely that the local indie hardware store sign made me tear up a block before I got to work.

Their sign currently reads: "Mums are here. More in rear." 

For some reason this prosaic rhyme made me think for an instant that all the mums* were in the store and if I didn't see mine right away, I could expect to find her in the back. 

(I didn't grow up American, so grew up saying "mum" not "mom.")

Pic: I took this as an excuse to treat myself to some huge mums for the front porch. 

thunderbolts and lightning

J wrote in the comments that when she lost her mom, she felt outraged that the rest of the world continued on... that she was surprised the mail continued to be delivered. I feel that.

This thing feels like being struck by lightning repeatedly. There was a lightning strike in the neighborhood in the afternoon yesterday and it gave L a nosebleed, woke A from his post call nap, and did something to our circuit breakers.

Big A texted to say we didn't have water, and I was so blasé about it... like quite unconcerned. It's as if I'm already in a private apocalypse of my own, so of course I expect that things like water and electricity are going to fail...

The emergency plumber came out late last night and fixed it in under half an hour. 

Pic: L's photo of the strike next door.

Apa Shakunam

"Inauspicious." 

The day I took my mom to the airport, I wrote about finding a four-leafed clover to pack for good luck. I didn't write about how my mom promptly lost it. I found an older one I had squirreled away for her to take. 

But the more I think about it, the more it feels like that was a foreshadowing of her hospital visit and everything else to come. 

I wonder what else I missed.

the next time I see you

I guess I'm at that stage where I'm telling random people that my mom died.  As I was checking in my luggage at the airport, the desk attendant asked why my suitcase was so heavy and I told her it had my mom's saris. Then I started sobbing. And then to make it less awkward, I explained that my mom had passed away. Super awkward. This young person, who couldn't have been more than 25, touched my arm and said gently: "It might seem like she's not here anymore, but she's always with you. So I helpfully cried harder.

I saw the same attendant at the gate too, and when she came up to me, I bashfully said something like--hi, look I'm not crying anymore. And she said "Ma'am, the next time I see you, you'll be strong and happy." I was so moved by her goodwill, I asked for her name, thinking I would write a note commending her kindness. 

It was Lakshmi. Mom's name. 

________

Pic: My mom's favorite sibling, her only brother, gave me this life-size blonde, blue-eyed doll who shut her eyes when you laid her down when I was a baby. I didn't play with her much, but "Sofia" became quite famous amongst my friends... for instance, the kid who's in the first photo with me wanted to take a photo with Sofia. My dad thought it would be hilarious to use my sister in the next picture as a switcheroo.

Another one from mom's archive.

I guess she doesn't live here anymore

The morning's Hindu ceremony for this 16th day was very serious. I was terrified of messing up something small like tying a knot wrong in the darba grass or making an offering in the wrong cardinal direction and endangering my mom's welfare in the next realm. So I extra loved the part when my mom was entrusted to her mom and grandmother for the journey, with the priest calling out their formal names and clan names.

This afternoon was the celebration of her life. It was a party mom would have loved, except for the fact that she very certainly wasn't there. If she doesn't live here anymore, I wonder where she is. And also, although I was the one who came up with the idea of "celebrating her life" I ended up being a very wet blanket--the kind who cries all the time.

It was the first time I was seeing people outside of family, and every time someone said something kind or I spied a sweet picture of her face on the slideshow, I was a puddle. At one point I was clutching neighbors I hadn't seen decades and sobbing into their shoulder. (They meant to visit dad on Wednesday, but had hurried down to say goodbye to me as I leave at the end of the day and they didn't want to miss me. So although their words were fairly standard--"we all lost a good friend"-- it seemed so fucking poignant in the moment.)

My mom's cousin with whom she had a lot of adventures made me laugh when she said an old (male) colleague of my sister's was a "rugged beauty." We got a lot of mileage out of that for the rest of the afternoon. Another cousin was addressed by a completely different--and made up--name by the security guard, and we all used that name for her for the rest of the afternoon as well. I guess, we all needed to regress/recoup a bit. 

Pic: A picture of the celebration a friend shared with me.
 

It's a serious business

Chelli and I spent hours poring over the many options we could go with as Amma had a serious sweet tooth and we went with a little bit of everything. It's a serious business gathering all of Amma's favorite treats.

We finalized the slide show, signed off on the caterer menus for tomorrow, okayed the centerpieces from the florist, and found the perfect photos for the seven small tables. Mom would love this party. The person who made tiny cakes for tomorrow started crying when she delivered them this evening because she said she was looking forward to making mom's 80th birthday cake and instead she was "baking for this." 

Pic: This looks like an ad for globalization what with the homemade treats up front and everything from Coca Cola to CheezIts and fusion snacks at the tail end of the table.   
 

siblings

So grateful for my sister who is so amazing at caregiving. When not with me, our parents have been with her for at least the last 15 years.

Amma has four siblings, and although she'd always say she loved her only brother the most, she's super close to her sisters. It has been such a relief to be held by my aunts, to know I'll fall asleep next to a protective and comforting aunt tonight. 

She was telling me that she and Amma had been arguing about a T.V. series called The Promise. They couldn't seem to agree on whether the lead actor was handsome or not, if he was tall or not, if someone was sus or not, they couldn't even agree on the basic plot line... "I kept rewatching episodes because I couldn't remember anything she mentioned," my aunt said. It turned out that my mom had been watching the Turkish series called The Promise and my aunt had been watching a Korean series that had the same title (but was a completely different show). Ha.

Pic: I vaguely remember being posed at the end of a school day with my sister in those giant planters as *growing kids* by my uncle, who doted on us. (Also, apropos of nothing, at least three of my teachers back then were flirting with him.) I have no idea why our catholic school uniforms are so grimy--my sister may even have been in a fight? She must still be in kindergarten, because their uniforms were sleeveless and you got sleeves only when you got to first grade. It was a cute 'fit: cement green with contrast binding in a green-and-white check... I'd wear that mod-looking frock now, given a chance. And I'd happily go back to that childhood.

found

Of course my sister and I started crying even as we walked towards each other and collapsed into each other when she picked me up at the bus stop.*

When we got home, my dad seemed so much smaller inside my hug and also grizzlier--in the traditional way, he won't shave until Sunday's ceremony.  He wouldn't let my hand go for hours. 

He wants me to take all my mom's things as some jewelry like her bangles, rings, anklets will fit only me. Ditto her shoes. Her clothes are not my size, but he kept telling me the sweaters and blazers would look nice at work (umm, no). I can see I'm going to return with so many of her saris. 

The true treasures are all the photo albums. She was so obsessed with At, photographing nearly every moment of At's infancy with whatever blurry camera she had back in 1999.

Pic: I found this 56-year-old photo of my parents from when they were just married. I'm noticing the slight lean away in their heads. In my dad's case, it could be because of the way his body aligns because of his polio... my mom is probably feeling shy? In any case, this photo makes me smile because dad always joked about how there was so much symmetry between his tie and my mom's braid.

*[My flight got into Bangalore at 3:20 AM, and I didn't want Chelli to make the 90-minute trip to the airport so late at night, so I refused to tell her when my flight got in. I stayed inside the airport until it was no longer dark and then took the bus home (it seemed safer than a taxi--there are always such horrendous stories of violence against women in Bangalore).]

On my way to work today, I heard Robert Redford died

... and it made me smile 

He had been one of my mom's celebrity crushes and what if there was some party for the newly dead where she might finally meet him? I don't know how many times we watched Redford and Fonda in the film adaptation of Neil Simon's Barefoot in the Park...

I leave tomorrow for Bangalore, and I guess I have mortality on the brain, because I've been saying earnest goodbyes to everyone letting them know how much they mean to me... TBF, it is a long journey and lots of things could go wrong... and I've thought of at least 500 of them.

Pic: I miss her everywhere, even on FB, where she was sometimes quite prolific on my page.

still present

I'm still using the present tense when I talk about mom a lot of the time, and I guess that's ok. Every time I receive a condolence message, I go through a moment where I'm like--LOL, no! my mom's not dead... before I realize no, that message really is for me. 

They say a loved one's spirit is near when a cardinal appears... I've been woken up by a cardinal almost every day since Amma died...

Could it be because when A is at work, I've been sleeping downstairs with Max and Huck?

Mostly... no regrets

I wasn't always the best kid. 

I broke her heart when I tried to die. And during my teen anorexic years, I wielded a sort of malicious power over her at mealtimes. But both those things were over a period of 3-4 late teen years and outside of that--to her, I seemed the best kid. 

Every thing about me--my grades, my stories, my smiles, my book recs, my kids, my home, every award, every publication, every tiny hair tweak, every plant hack... every stupid thing brought her so much joy... as she never tired of telling me.

I'm glad we went for a long visit recently, and that we got to see her this summer, I'm glad I got to take her to all the places she wanted to go to, made her fabulous meals and very simple ones (the last thing I made her was the Parsi omelette sandwich we ate picnic style at the Detroit airport), made sure the kids cleared their calendars and spent enough time with us, did the professional family photo shoot she wanted, sang all the songs she wanted me to sing to her, took her shopping at all the discount places she loved.

I let all the small things go. Her main parenting rule was that she would love me no matter what. And in the last twenty years, that became my reciprocal rule as well. I stopped trying to convince her about things that were important to me... she had her own list of things that were important to her (mostly At, Nu, my sister, and me). And things got real easy after that. So... despite the pain, at least there's peace in knowing I don't wish I had done anything differently. 

The day before*, she wished me for my Boss Day, then we talked for a bit. Our last words were: 

"Love you, Kanna" 

"Love you, Amma"

No... No regrets... If I had known those were to be our final words, I would not have changed them.

But I would have changed the time. My grandmother and great-grandmother lived into their nineties and I expected my mom would too...

Pic: I recognize my lovely mom. The gremlin in her lap is supposedly me. 

* It was the 6th in Bangalore, but it was still the 5th when I got the call. I keep replaying the words I heard my sister say through her sobs ("Akka, Amma passed away this morning") in my head as if they'll make sense this time.

tribute

India won independence from Britain in 1947. Or according to tongue-in-cheek family lore, my mother was so powerful that the year after she was born, the British left India. Our dad was sincere in calling her our family's Dhairya Lakshmi--our Goddess of Courage. I can't believe my vibrant, beautiful, lovely, funny mother is not in this realm any longer. I feel enveloped in her presence and love still.

I can't put into words how amazing she was or how hard she loved me and my sister. When other Indian kids bemoan their strict upbringing, I'm extra grateful for Amma who diligently used the copy of Dr. Benjamin Spock she acquired in college; her two primary parenting rules for my sister and me were 1) Love your kids no matter what 2) Say yes more than you say no. As the eldest in a family of five she received extra corporal punishment from her father: "if the first wheel is straight, all the other wheels will follow." So she was determined that she would never lay a finger on her kids--that was one of the many generational cycles she successfully broke.

As a child she was hilariously blunt (to her grieving mother--"mom, don't cry! All your powder [make up] is getting washed away") + a terrible liar (after being told not to tell her grandfather they'd been to the cinema "Thatha, we didn't AT ALL go to the cinema"). And she continued on with those traits. She loved so fiercely and was unfailingly proud of us. It's no wonder she was adored by her two kids and grandkids, her four siblings, her niblings, and several of her kids' friends. Also, she loved her only brother extra and didn't care who knew that. I love that she and Aaron were each other's favorites. He was even better than I was at deciphering her 2:00 am texts--typos, Telugu colloquialisms and all. And she blissfully took my dad for granted. "Even if God himself came down to tell me, I'd never believe your dad could have an affair," she told me once. And just as I was awed by the trust that seemed to exist between my parents, she added: "He really hates to spend money." That still cracks me up.

She was irrepressible and fun-loving. And that line in _Bend it Like Beckham_ "Don't smile, Indian brides never smile" didn't apply to her; look how radiant she is in that B&W picture as a bride. She loved people and parties and travel. The week before Spring break this year, she texted me around 2:30 am to suggest she, my sister, and I should go to Istanbul. We could share a suite, her treat! We didn't do that, but two months ago, when she was here, we threw a huge garden party together, and she adored book clubs so we went to one at Jan Shoemaker's, and we got in lots of cuddles with Atulya and NuNu who were even more precious to her than her kids ("the interest is more precious than the principal" she'd say.)

Today a cardinal at the window woke me up. This is wonderful as they say cardinals are a sign of a loved one's spirit. But also, I have a feeder at that window and also I didn't have to wait to feel my mom's presence. It is always with me. I can't stop loving her and Amma won't stop loving us. I will always love her; she will love us forever. Om Shanti, Shanti, Shantihi.