Spicy Rasam

A friend of mine once told me that grief comes in waves. I pretended to understand and nodded away. You never truly understand grief until you’ve experienced it right? My mom recently passed away because of chronic ILD. She was 72 years old.

Yesterday, before I started to make lunch, I took my phone, connected Bluetooth and almost dialled Mom. The action had become muscle memory and that’s when realisation stuck that I will never be able to call Mom. I don’t cry much, therefore I did not. I am not sure why I can’t cry out loud, but I am definitely crying inside. I hope I am making sense. I cooked, ate, ran errands, and cleaned. I tried talking to my friend, my brother and my grandmom to emulate the same feeling I get when I talk to my mom. I still feel incomplete and have no idea how to fill the gap.

A colleague of mine asked my mom’s age and said, “oh! She was old. Ok.” I get this reaction from many people. “She was suffering,” “It is ok. It was her time,” “She was old. It’s ok.” I still miss her though.

She was a power to recon with. She managed to live her life with a lot of zest. I never understood why people said “they were full of life” when they hear someone has passed away. I do now. My mom really was full of life.

The last conversation I had with her revolved around a Korean drama, the Malayalam movie Branhmayugam and Velpari novel. There was a time when I expected her to behave like an old lady; Wanted her not to be interested in anything other than religion and God. I am glad she ignored my advice. She was interested in a lot of things and had a zest to learn till her last breath.

She’s helped and uplifted so many lives in her lifespan. Many people helped us during the funeral. They talked about her in a way that felt sweetly heavy. She taught us to love and respect every life we come across. She taught me to respect the deserving person; that respect is commanded, not demanded.

She is my role model.

I just wanted to write about her. Thanks for reading.