Life, Interrupted.

"Yeah, its all over now", my brother said with a deep sigh. "He looked just as handsome as he did before all of this happened". My heart felt heavier and my eyes teared up as I looked out the window hoping to find deeper answers to life's more complex questions.
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Around nine months ago, I was woken up by a phone call very early in the morning. It was the weekend, so I let it ring and continued my slumber until I got my lazy butt out of bed. It was after doing my morning chores that I decided to check who had called - it was my wife's cousin. The voice mail he left threw me right out of my comfort zone. He had been having headaches, so the doctor suggested an MRI and they had discovered a tumor in his brain. I felt like slapping myself for not taking his call and letting it go to voice mail. I desperately tried to call him back, but did not get any answer. It was later on that I knew he had been hospitalized and they had started further investigations into his condition.

Fast forward a couple of weeks - I traveled to Chicago to be by his side and also receive his parents who were on their way from India. It was 3 days packed with emotions - of him, his sister and his parents. There was a mix of anxiety, despair and hope for a better future - Medical science has made so many advances - we can clone entire organs, so a tumor in the brain could not be much of a puzzle for the brightest of doctors right?

Except, it was. They ruled out surgery as it was too complex and started chemo, radiation and rehabilitation. I painfully watched as his dad helped him regain his strength to walk, assist him to the bathroom and help him with other things otherwise considered mundane in daily life. For his dad, it was as if life had progressed in reverse, when his son was a little boy, and he was holding his hands to help him get his balance.

As time passed he fought back with his strong will power and zest for living, but then all of that suffered huge blows as hope dwindled and more doctors said that there was nothing more they could do. He never complained about how life was unfair and that he was given the short end of a stick. The bounce in his talk was still there, though occasionally he would delve into long streaks of silence. He joked about the hair he had lost because of the chemo and of the weight he had put on because of all the steroids.

After putting up a brave fight, the third week of March was destined to be his last on this planet. The last few days were particularly tough - for him and everyone close to him and then he decided he had enough. The tumor eventually outgrew his willpower and took over control. I guess some dark clouds do not have a silver lining after all.
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After that phone call from my brother after his funeral, I called and spoke to his dad the next day. It hurt deeply, and though the chatty person that I am, I was at a loss for words in all languages I knew. I told him what I felt - all he could do was to look after himself and hos wife as his son would have done and that live life as happily as he would have wanted you to. In a way, the best homage to a bright young lad.

The loss of a child is more scarring in many ways compared to the loss of parents or close relatives. It hurts you until your last breath. Many a lesson can be learned from all of this - the most important one being - never  lose the joy of living life amidst complaints about all the nitty grtty details.

Jiby was 24 at the time of his funeral. He was just beginning to enjoy life in its prime - precisely why he fought so hard against what eventually took his life at a young age. May his soul rest his peace and may his memories light up moments of people he touched.

Sleep well my friend, for you shall be forever young.

Picture courtesy - http://usagamezone.blogspot.com

Is your heart a Lake or a Marsh?

It was the summer of a year that marked the beginning of this millennium. I locked up my apartment in a hurry and walked down the stairs. My heart was getting heavier with each step I took downstairs. As I walked around the block to my friend's apartment, the phone call I received from him a couple of minutes earlier was still ringing in my head.

"I got a phone call from India," he said in that call. "My Dad passed away". As he went on with more details, my brain was already processing fond memories of his dad  - a very funny, intelligent and compassionate man who also happened to be a doctor. The news sank into my heart instantly - bringing out emotions that I never thought I had in the first place. With each passing minute, the news was digging deep into me; generating a whole bunch of questions - how could this happen? How would it impact my friend, his sister and mom? Had they already found out about this? How did they react?

I lost my father at a very young age, so I knew how the loss of a father figure could affect a person's mentality. It is not just the loss of a person - it is the loss of a friend, a support system and most importantly, a brutally honest critic. All of this cocoons into something that makes you want to be a better person all your life.

As I entered my friend's apartment and hugged him, I completely lost it. I was in tears and and held him tight, looking to console him out of his sorrow(as if that was possible). He then patted on my back and said, "It's ok, It's ok". It was then I realized something - the news had not struck him yet; he was still in no man's land, coming to terms with what had happened. There were no tears, just a blank look which, to an outsider,  would give an impression that he had everything under control. But I had known my friend for sometime now and I knew that there was a void that was created which could only be filled in by accepting the dreadful fact of his loss.

After making arrangements for his trip to India, some of my other friends and I saw him off at the airport that night. This was before 9/11, so we could go all the way up to the gate. We rehashed some memories of  the man, there were complaints about the long flight and a few laughs out of my friend. I thought to myself - "Ok, he still has not grappled with the news yet, but maybe the 18 hours of flight will do it".

It has been 10 years since then, and I have to say that not only did the news sink in for him, but it has been with them since then. I get a sense of it from the conversations that I have with him, the blog posts that he writes and the off hand impromptu remark that comes out of him.

Which brings me back to the post's title (it's about time) - when it comes to your heart is it a lake or a marsh? When news comes your way in the shape of a black stone, what does your heart morph into? A lake in which the stone sinks fast, but can be easily taken out by undercurrents? or a marsh where in the stone sinks slowly, making marks along its way and hard to move around? Or a mix of both?

Let us hope that whatever shape our hearts take, it never gets a bad news stone thrown at it. I know life is not full of happiness, so if something has to be thrown at it, may it be pebbles - that skip until it crosses the lake, and are so light that they could never sink into the marsh.


Image courtesy :www.myspaceantics.com