My mother was a pillar of strength for all of us.
For so many years, we thought her father was the strongest and wisest person—and he truly is—but my mother was the strength behind him. Over the past 10 months, his voice has lost its power, his body has become more fragile, and he has been emotionally low.
Our mother nurtured us in her own way. She treated each of us differently, knowing exactly what we needed from her and how her presence could shape who we are.
The calendar has changed, but it hasn’t filled the void. Time has not healed much over the past 10 months. Yesterday was her birthday. With Mr. Husband in India, the house feels so empty, and Anand and I are finding ways to be together and to be kind to one another. Surprisingly, it is working out well. I think we both are kinder and more patient with each other. He’s even been enjoying the idea of being my plus one.
I didn’t want to stay at home on Amma’s birthday. I had to attend a wake and then an Indian event, and Anand agreed to come with me. It was his first time attending a wake and seeing loss up close. The long line was overwhelming for him, but he stayed patient and kind. He stood beside me without his headphones, watching and observing everything. He learned a lot and understood more about personal loss.
Last night, on our way home, we talked about things we want to do together this week. This morning, he helped me clear the snow from last night’s storm before going to work, ate whatever I cooked for him, took public transport even though I offered him a ride, and picked up groceries after work.
Yesterday, I wore a Tussar saree to celebrate Amma’s birthday. I stood beside one of my mentors, who lost his wife, and later attended an event on Kashmir and its history.
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