Leafing through life

I am in a confused state of mind right now. Don’t really know why I am writing this, but then, as always, I am propelled to sit at this hour by some force that wants me to write something. I seriously do not have any idea about what. And why. I mean I know I should be writing something, but have no clue where to start, how to continue and where to end. Do all writers go through this? This irresistible urge to wear their hearts on their sleeves and wait for responses? Do they know how it feels to have felt restless all day because you have not penned your thoughts on paper? Most importantly, I do not even have the faintest inkling on what this state is called. But then, as it goes, write, if you must. Cause if I don’t, I might just end up smashed with the fury of some invisible muse, who desperately wants me to take the pen tonight.

So here I begin.

This afternoon, I found myself crying, after a very long time. Weeks maybe. And that’s really long if you ask me. It was so sudden that I could hardly believe that they were actually tears. I wasn’t howling. Nor was I feeling helpless. Just that some lost tears, quite by chance, found their way through my eyes. They must have been hidden somewhere. In the deep, dark recesses of my oft wringed core. In those daily chores that I am bound to accomplish. In those tough as stone resolves, that no matter what, I will not stand defeated. In those loud laughters that I sought refuge in, in order to survive. Survive the worst form of pain thinkable. Survive amidst a world where misery is an excuse for charity. Where empathy is expensive, hence, sympathy is showered like rain. Yes. They were lost. And today, they found a way.

A way it is. Of sorts. Of reassuring the value of tears. My tears. Tears that I have disciplined all these months. Tears that I do not indulge in too often these days. In fact, I hardly do. Tears that are no longer indispensable. I have learnt to deal with them. I can, finally, manage without them. I would like to believe.

Yet they came this afternoon. Uncalled, unprovoked, uninvoked. They appeared like stars on a moonlit night.

A puzzled me enquired, ‘What brings you here?’

They answered, ‘We were worried about you.’

‘But then, I am fine now. Don’t you see?’

They asked, ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes’, I put my chin up.

They were adamant, ‘You don’t look fine. You are just trying to believe you are.’

I wouldn’t give in so easily, ‘No, I AM FINE’.

‘Good for you. But then, we’ve been watching you for a while, and you look so tired. You looked loaded with worries unthinkable. A weight we felt we should help you with.’

‘Worries? Don’t we all have worries? I think I am strong enough to handle them myself’.

‘Yes you are’, they confirmed, ‘but we simply want you to know, we are always there for you. To share your worries. Drench you with some breezy drizzle in the most scorching summer of your life.’

‘That’s really kind, I must admit.’

And they left. Gifting me with a smile, that stuck to my lips all evening. And with a thought that I must write something. Today.

It is not easy, I tell you. After the tremendous stroke of fate that crushed me so mercilessly, one ghastly December night. It is not easy to see a life you loved so deeply, die. It is not easy to kiss him one last time and say, ‘I love you’. It is not easy to touch his cold fingers and hope for them to tremble. And they don’t. It is not easy to place your head on his chest and not be able to gauge life in it. It is not easy to hand over fresh clothes to the nurse when she asks, ‘Have you got his clothes? We have to get him ready soon’. It is not easy when they dress him up for his final journey, as you wait outside the ICU. It is not easy when he leaves for his final journey, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him, leaving. It is not easy to come back home. Alone.

No, none of these, is easy. It can’t be. I know. I have lived them. Myself. I have touched death very closely. Touched the tired face that went to sleep, forever. Placed my palm on the winced forehead that had born the most horrific nightmares.

And after all this, I am still alive. I wake up. Make tea, get my daughter dressed for school, cook lunch, make the bed, dust the curios, change the curtains, crib about the heat, lose my temper when the maid doesn’t turn up, take calls, make calls, go for shopping, eat out, watch my favourite shows on tv, ping on whatsapp, look for notifications on facebook, help the little one with her home work, pay the bills, make note of expenses, track the savings, plan investments, wait for weekends, look forward to vacations. I do everything. After all that I have been through, I still manage. To make my life look normal. Make my life look much like one of someone my age. Settled, secure, sorted.

I think that is how God has planned it for me. I am destined to take charge of things I always wished him to take care of. I am ordained to do all of those he so wished to do. I am blessed to be living, his life.

Yes, I am indeed fortunate that I still have the chance to complete all his unfinished tasks. All his unfulfilled wishes. All his incomplete sentences. All his unuttered dreams. I am here to live on his behalf. And ensure a beautiful and splendid life for our daughter. I am here to add value to my living. As I said before, am here to ‘complete’ his life.

That’s my rationale. That’s my purpose. To be able to do justice to the life that I have been granted. After he left.

And I am thankful. To God. Things could have been worse. Could have been awfully convoluted. I could have lost sanity, in grief. I could have lost my power to withstand the onslaughts of foes. I could have lost my friends. I could have lost this pen, that relieves my soul. I could have lost the power to shield myself from sympathy. I could have lost my sense of self respect. I could have simply, died.

But I haven’t. And I am so so thankful. To God for showing me who my best friends are, showing me how important I am, and my happiness is, for them. Thankful for blessing me with a profuse measure of endurance. And thankful, for all those situations, when he signaled, I should not endure, any further.
Thankful for everything I still have. And would never ever want to let go.

And one of them is you. I share my life with you, and feel lighter. You, truly know the real me. Some of you wait for me to write a post. Some promise me undying prayers, some, love and some, smiles. Some love, what I write. Some love, how I write. Some simply, love me.

Like the tears I met this afternoon. You, are my friend for life.