This blog was initially going to be devoted to the feelings that emerged and swirled when I spoke to my ex after a year. I went to bed knowing exactly what I was going to write in the morning. Life, in its infinite cruelty played the tricks it loves so dearly. I suppose the best way to start WOULD be with the ex’s phone call.
That’s what I thought it was. At 2am, in the midst of a sleepy haze, I thought that was the only possible reason the phone was ringing. I lay in bed wondering sleepily if I should pick it up and if I felt like talking to him so late. I’m your normal self-absorbed teenager, who likes to believe the world revolves around her. The self-absorbed world as I knew it in all its comfort crashed down around me as reality struck. I’ve rarely heard my mother’s voice sound like that, and I’ve rarely seen my father move so fast. And as much as I tease my mother for her high-pitched voice and my father’s slow movements, I can only hope and pray I never have to hear or see them like that again. At the hospital and when the sinking reality finally, well – sunk, I dug my cold and trembling hands into my fathers skin and intertwined my fingers with my mother’s. Just to know in my swirling mass of thoughts and hysteria, that they were there, and they were alive and whole and I wouldn’t be like the two perfect little boys who would wake up soon to the nightmare of one parent when they were born into two.
I’ve slammed doors at Suchi Moras, I’ve laughed at her and made fun of her, and shaken my head in disbelief at her. Now when I realize that I will never see her again, I feel a coldness that is so internal and deep-set, I know few ways to get me warm again. She was a wonderful mother, who gloated lovingly over her two beautiful children’s achievements, with a pride and joy that most mothers choose to keep hidden. She was a wife who was never afraid to show the world how much she worshipped the man she had promised God she’d spend the rest of her life with. She forgave and forgot slights easily and with an ease that was almost graceful. She was innocent in a way that although most people found annoying, was rare and beautiful to find in anyone above 30. She was one of the prettiest women I’d ever seen in real life, pretty in her energy and her vibrance, and most importantly, in her youth. She could talk and dance and sing and be a mother and a wife and a sister and a daughter – and she could play all those roles beautifully, with energy and compassion and with life. She was the one of those people who’d be a favorite with God. He’d sit with her for hours, sipping tea and eating chips, gossiping about the world down there. He obviously loved her so much, he couldn’t wait to make her a part of his inner circle.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Funeral Blues by W.H Auden