We celebrated the birthday at Fitchburg Senior Center where both Mummy and Papa used to go for exercises, Bridge, Craft etc.  Mummy made several quilts and knitted things for the Senior Center.

Papa could not go to celebrate it with Jill, Sarah and Laura to Swan Creek Park where Mummy's Memorial Bench is this year.  He was in Hospital, waiting to be released.  He always takes a balloon and rose to the Bench.  I was in Maryland but I sent the cake to the Sr. Center so that people there could enjoy it.  Mummy liked to have lots of people around.  Laura brought a rose to the Bench for her and placed it on her bench.

The Center posted the following on their Facebook page --
"
A big thank you to the Bansal family for the amazing cake they offered today in remembrance of Saroj's birthday. We miss Saroj's sweetness at the Senior Center, and are honored to remember her on this special day.
"

1977, Our First Snow in United States.

Mummy, then barely 40 years old, playing in snow in Parking Lot of our Apartments.

Papa celebrated your Birthday at your Bench at the swan creek park along with Jill and Laura.

Sounds like your spirit came through a butterfly who flew in as soon as they arrived and hung around the entire time!  Jill said it must be you and Tim agrees.  Papa and I believe it too.  I know you are looking out for us. 

Chris and I had dinner at Olive Garden - your favorite place.  You always used to tell me to go out to eat to celebrate your days. 

This was a good day.  Papa was feeling better after a few bad days - he would have been disappointed if he couldn't make it to the bench.  I had planned to be there but I was needed there earlier this month.  But you are in my heart and so you are wherever I am.  I feel really happy about the butterfly.  I feel happy that papa was able to go there and I am happy for having a husband who helped me celebrate your day and for friends who took time out of their busy schedule to send off the balloon to you.  Most of all, I am happy that you came. 

Will you come and take a walk with me one more time?

We are remembering Saroj ji with fond memories and much love.  Every time we met, she would extend her warm hands to hold mine.  Then she would squeeze my hands very gently and look at me with a loving smile.  We know we can never bring back those days, but her memories will always be with us!  Our thoughts and prayers are with Sushil ji, Sandhya Ji, Chris ji, Ashish ji, Gauri ji Priya and Premita! as you perform her final rite 

With Our Love,
Krishna and Radha Sijapati 
 

Dear Mummy

Heres something you wanted to get back so badly.  You said you would not give up, but you did.  Wish I was there to support you in those darkest months when you needed someone.  Can you see it from wherever you are? 

Love you and miss you.

Your daughter

Usha Mausi was the youngest of. 8 siblings my Mom had.  She was the first one to leave us too.  She passed away in London in December 1977 when a leaky carbon-monoxide pipe put her to sleep from which she never woke up.  From what I remember of her, she always had a smile on her face.  She was sent to a Gurukul in India for schooling where they are very strict about discipline. The siblings lost their mother at early age. Usha Mausi must have been 14 or 15. Mummy was only 18.  Usha Mausi  didn't have the happiest married life either. She had two very young children when she passed away. The son, Rajat was 10 and daughter, Priti was 5. I remember her in India when she used to bring her two little ones with her to our home.   We used to go to movies. I just remember her always looking happy inspite of the hardships she was facing. Mausaji had gone to London and she was awaiting her turn to go and join him. She was living with her parent-in-law then. 

Finally she went to London with her kids - about three months before we came to US. She was gone within 6 months!

I always loved the smile she had. She was so young and full of life. I miss her. 

Dearest Mummy

On this bench we sat on the 7th of September evening around 5 or 6 while you sipped on your little cup of tea.  I said 'when you are stronger, we will take a walk over there, ok?' And you replied in tiny voice 'achcha'. 

But that day never came.  You faded away that evening after our little carr ride together. It wiped you out to walk to the car and slowly you slipped out without so much a s a sound!  Why did we turn the lights out?  So many things I didn't say to you and so many you didn't tell me.  But I know how you felt.  I wish you would come back just once and sit with me again. I would listen more than talk because that is what you needed.  I know that now.  I was too busy trying to keep you around that I didn't pay attention to what made you happy. 

If you are somewhere and if I get there some day, I will say sorry then.  Save a hug for me...

Love you. Gudia

We made Pizza at home on this day last year.  That was yours and papa's last Anniversary together.  Though, in heart, we will always be together.

It was a very snowy week there.  Lots of snow on the ground.  Papa came to pick me up at the airport.  You sent him to airport with instructions to tell me not to bug you about eating :-)  But I never listened - just like you never did to me :-)

That was our last time together in your room in the basement.  You missed that room when you had to leave it because of papa's illness.  I wish I could give you what you really needed to be happy.  But you needed something I could not give you - and that was the love and respect of Shailu/Gauri.  You needed them; and I needed you to be happy. 

I hope you know how much I love you and have always loved you.  Chris says that you knew.  


Love
Gudia        

This was a small house where we moved to from the apartment.  She was happy here.  I remember sitting in the lawn under the tree and sharing family moments.  She liked to be surrounded with family and friends.  

Dearest Mummy It is the first snow of the year without you. You would've liked to see the little crystals hanging from trees! So many firsts without you... I know you would want me to be happy. You would want me to go on. But it is so hard. You are not here but I breathe when there were times I found it hard to do it because you were so unwell and unhappy.

I was just thinking that on our Wedding day, you didn't get to do what was your right as my mother. Because I wasn't thinking and too much was going on, American tradition took over and you didn't get to give your daughter away. But you never complained, never said anything. Wish, you did. But you did finally claimed that right and gave me away to Chris that night in July when you called to talk to him. You told him to take care of me and made sure that you have my hand in capable hands. He has lived up to your hopes and expectations and has honored your wish.

I hope you can see that from wherever you are. Babaji ammaji would have been happy to see me so well taken care of. I hope they can see me too. I hope you have found each other and are smiling when you look down on me. I will try to not be sad for none of you want that for me. I just miss the three of you so much.

Love you Gudia

Without you, I am so lost...

I remember for my wedding, you and I went to rehearse our hair dos and makeup at the salons.  That was the first time you went to a salon for an occation.  Other times it was when you had cancer.  That was such a nice evening.  We had a nice time.  You looked so nice in that nice new hair-do.  You liked it; I was afraid how you would react since you were so picky about things.  It was nice doing that little ritual with my Mom.

You looked so wonderful.  You look so healthy and happy.  It was only 8 years ago!  I know you were sad about Shailu not showing up.  But I have no regrets about that.  I wish you did not feel badly for things like that.

Thank you for trusting me along the years and for accepting my decisions.  I know how difficult it must have been for you - especially the first few years of our being here.  But you always trusted me.  I hope you know that I never let you down. 

Love, Gudia

Dear Mummy

Sometimes I am just paralyzed and can't do anything; don't want to do anything.  Just want to talk about you, think about you.

I was just thinking about that day, probably sometime in May when you and I were sitting in your living room.  I was working on my laptop and you were just sitting there.  Suddenly you looked at me and said 'sub kuch kitna badal gaya hai na?' (everything has changed so now, isn't it?).  And because I was busy, I just grunted in affirmative and went back to work.  I wish, oh how I wish now, I paid more attention to you and got up to hug you at that time and tried to talk to you.  Perhaps at that time you would have been more willing to talk.  There were very few times when you actually initiated a conversation in last couple of years. 

I am sorry mummy that we weren't there for you when you needed us. How can I fix it now?  I need to fix it but as Chris says, 'it is over'.

I love you, mummy. -- Your's Gudia

Dear Mummy -- I saw you in my dream last night; and one night last week.  But both times you appeared only momentarily.

Come in my dream sometime and sit with me awhile like we did on that Saturday evening on your favorite bench outside the house before our last ride in the car... like you did couple of times earlier that week.  I often think of those times because they belonged to just you and me.  I can still hear your frail voice. 

Oh mummy, just come and tell me you are somewhere and are happy and can see me.  I wish I knew; I wish I had the faith like some do.  I would like to believe that you are somewhere with babaji and ammaji and looking at me and getting annoyed with me for worrying so much.  I look at your pictures and still cannot believe that you are gone.  Yesterday I had this momentary thought to call you before I remembered...

I talked with Anju yesterday and decided that I would set up a memorial fund in yours and ammaji-babaji's name for the nursing home that takes care of elderly.  I am still thinking about what to do with your saris and indian clothes as I want them to go to someone who will use them. 

Papa went to Minniapolis for Priya's birthday.  I know how much you wanted to go and see her apartment and how sad you were that she never asked you to come even though you told her you wanted to.  It is sad that neither of the two girls have learnt what it is to truly love someone.  It wasn't your loss; it was hers.

You always used to say that nobody tells you anything; and they didn't.  I will try to tell you every day what happened with me a day before.  This way we can always talk and may be you will come in my dream and tell me about yourself.

I wish I took care of you better.  You needed someone to talk to.  I tried few time; but...  Only in that last week, we sat down together and it was so nice...  I wish that could last a bit longer. 

Love, Gudia

I specially think of our vacations in Nainital, Ranikhet and Massouri.  Our boat rides in Nainital were awsom.  I remember once we went hiking on Tiffin Top and we were sitting on a stone just enjoying the view of Naini Lake from up there.  Suddenly we were enveloped by the Clouds and we couldn't see each other for few moments at all.  That was scary and exciting at the same time.  We went to Nainital several times.  In Ranikhet we had a person who cooked for us.  His name was Pansingh.  He used to make the best 3-layered paratha.  I can still taste it when I think of it. 

I am glad that I had a chance to take these family vacations with papa mummy.  Those are some of the best memories of my childhood.

...on this day, 7th of September, you were still with us and I still had a home with you. When I got to the house around 7, I learnt that you had a terrible night. A truly terrible night in so many ways. You were still asleep after taking a sleeping pill around 5 in the morning. I should have stayed with you that night. I will never forget that helpless and frustrated look in your eyes when you looked at me as I was getting ready to leave for the night. You cried out 'itni dawai laine se kiya faida, mein achchi taw ho nehi rehi' (what's the point of taking all this medication, I am not getting any better). Oh how it went through my heart like a knife! I just looked at you, so helpless myself. I couldn't do anything but watch you in agony.

You wanted to get better and to live. You had become accustomed to, over the last 20 years if illness of getting terribly sick, going to hospital and finally getting better. And that was why it was most heart-breaking. You knew now that you would not get better and you were afraid. I should have hugged you and kept you close to my heart all night. I should have been there to look after you. But you were worried that it was getting late and were telling me to go. I should have stayed. You went through the biggest trauma that night and I could have prevented some of it. When I came home, I waited for you to wake up, which after a while you did. That was a difficult day. Someone from hospice came to help you shower. First and last time you would shower with someone's help and sit in that shower chair which you took so pride in not using. 'My husband uses the shower chair, not me' - you used to say :-)  It was a hard day. Your strength was failing and you could not keep anything in but Boost and little bit of cereal. You said, once again, 'do din mein duniya he badal gaiee' (two weeks and my whole World has changed). Such helplessness in you voice. You were terrified of us putting you in nursing home and you were afraid then.  While you wanted to live, you wanted to live on your own terms.  You hated asking for help and being fussed over.  You did not want to live like this and you knew you didn't have the strength.  

Finally around 5 or so, you wanted to sit in the Living room and wanted some tea.  I gave you a small cup of tea and we sat outside on the bench while you sipped it.  You wanted to read the 'katha' book you used to read every day.  I gave it to you.  You opened it and your hands were shaking and I am not sure whether you could read it.  After a little bit you gave up and handed it back to me.  I said 'when you are stronger, we will go walking over there, ok?' You replied in a very faint voice 'achcha' (ok).  Then you said 'chal thodi der gadi mein chaltai hain' (lets go for a short drive).  By the time you walked to the car, your knees were trembling.  As you sat in the car, your eyes rolled over and you gasped for air.  I brought you a bottle of water and we went driving for about 10 minutes.  I asked you to give me directions and you would tell me when to turn 'left', 'right'.  You voice was so frail and I was afraid.  You said so little that day... that whole week actually that I want to savor each word you spoke to me that day.  I remember it just like yesterday and yet it has been so many days since I heard your voice.

After we came home, you walked up to the bench and could not lift your foot enough to go in.  I had to ask Shailu to help.  Once you reached the living room, you wanted to go back to bed but could not walk.  Every minute was taking away your strength bit by bit.  From then on it is even more of a blur.  Things were happening (or not) and you were whimpering and losing strength.

You were getting more and more troubled as time passed.  You were scared of another night time.  It was more difficult than I can say watching you suffer.  I wished I wasn't there; oh I did wish that.  I held your hand and sat in bed with you.  Papa was there and others.  I was going to stay tonight; could not leave you like that.  You got up one more time and when we tried to bring you back to bed, you fell because you were totally devoid of any strength in your body.  Once you were in bed, you said 'merai badan mein jaan nehin hai' (I don't have strength in my body).  You said 'give me sleeping pill'.  We worried that if we gave it to you, you won't wake up.  Your body was so cold.  Your knees were icy.  Hands had been cold the whole week.  Your pulse was 62 which is half of what was normal for you.  BP was not registering.  The hospice nurse came and said to give you some fluid if we wanted to raise the BP.  You just wanted a sleeping pill.
We debated about the pill.  Looking at you, I thought - 'oh, i don't know if I want her to wake up.  She will have difficulty breathing.  She probably won't be able to get up.  Oh, I don't want her to wake up'.  What a terrible thought for my Mom I loved so dearly.  But I know you wouldn't have wanted to live depending on other.   We finally gave you half of the pill around 12:30 in the morning of 8th.  You tried to adjust your oxygen but fell asleep quickly enough.  Gauri sat there and sang some religious song with you as you tried to sing along.  The last words I remember you saying was 'Jai Shiv Shankar'... and you fell asleep.  Papa was next to you and I at your feet.  Shailu Gauri were in and out to check up on you.  

As I watched you breathe, it got slower and slower.  I am not sure I felt much at that time.  It felt like it was part of some movie or something and that it wasn't happening for real.  The whole thing was like a blur.  Around 4, we tried to shake you and wake you up but you wouldn't wake up!  We called hospice and they said that this was normal; that you were sleeping; and that we should all go to bed.  We thought (or I thought) that meant that you were ok. Even through all this, somehow you would still be around - that's how I felt.  We turned lights out and dozed off around 4:30.  When we turned lights back on at 5 and looked at you, you were not breathing.  You left while we dozed and didn't make a sound.  Were you just waiting for us to turn the lights off so you could go peacefully?  Peace is what you finally found in your 4 hour sleep that morning of September 8th, 2013.  You hadn't slept like that in so long!  Those last three weeks were spent in agony.  But it was, as it still is today, so strange that you were gone!  Both papa and I were in bed with you and didn't even hear a sound.  

You never liked to go anywhere alone!  Now you have gone on a long journey all by yourself - leaving us behind.  Or may be you are just gone because there is nowhere else to go.  Who knows... 

I would like to believe that you are there somewhere and that you can see us, see me and are grumbling 'tu chinta bahut karti hai' (you worry too much) :-)  Just that, I wish I hugged you more and held you tight.  That week, it seemed to me that it comforted you if someone held your hand.  I wish... I wish...        

Later on I found this poem by Kristin Preus and was struck by how fitting it was to the way we lived those few last weeks and that last night...

In Tears, we saw you sinking
And watched you pass away
Our hearts were almost broken
We wanted you to stay.

But when we saw you sleeping
So peacefull, Free from pain
How could we wish you back with us,
To suffer that again.

It broke our hearts to lose you
But you did not go alone
For part of us went with you
The day God took you Home.

If roses grow in Heaven
Lord, please pick a bunch for me
Place them in my mother's arms
And tell her they are from me.

Tell her I love her and miss her
And when she turns to smile
Place a kiss upon her cheek
And hold her for awhile.

Because remembering her is easy
I do it every day
But there is an ache within my heart
That will never go away.

Don't think of her as gone away
Her journey has just begun
Life holds so many facets
This Earth is only one.

Think of her as resting
From the Sorrows and the tears
In a place of warmth and comfort
Where there are no days and Years                                    

Just think how she must be wishing
That we could know today
Now, nothing but our sadness
Can really pass away...

And think of her as living
In the hearts of those she touched
For nothing loved is ever lost
And she is loved so very much.
                 


    

Some of the earliest memories I have of mummy were of her embridering her Saris, shawls and my frocks. It was fun watching beautiful things appear on the pieces of clothes as she chucked away with the sewing machine.  She used to make most of my frocks and dresses when I was a child.  She used to always be busy with something - cooking, or her craft work.  The lazy summer afternoons with my grandmother and mom while listening to 'behno ka program' - oh, how I miss those days.  Those were the years of 'Aapka Bunti', and 'Binaca Geetmala'.  Time when my grandparents were healthy and papa mummy were young and had a lot to look forward to.  Time when I felt safe being grown up in a very protective environment.

I remember those holidays like Deepawali and Dasharah, Holi when mummy and ammaji would make so many different kinds of puris and curries.  Ammaji and I would draw the Holiday pictures on the wall.  Mummy did not do that.  But she  loved to cook.  She wanted me to learn to cook but I was never interested.  She worried what would happen to me; how would I feed my husband.  Little did she know that mine would be the easiest person to cook (or not) for :-)  She wanted to teach me to sew but that was not my cup of tea either.  I did love to draw, paint and embroider.  My mom trusted me and she never pressed me to do (or not to do) anything.  I have always appreciated that about her; but I appreciate it even more so now when I look back and think about how difficult it must have been for her at times.

In June mummy almost left us as something happened while she was at the Hospital.  We were told that her heart had almost stopped.  She spent the next 11 days in Cardiology ICU where she, the doctors and the nursing staff worked so hard to get her back on her feet again.  Her heart was now at 15% as opposed to 30 a year or so ago.  None of the medicines were working and she was at time in great distress. Lots of whimpering and something very uncomfortable was happening to her body.  Eventually they decided that only thing that her body seems to like is Milrinone that had to be given via a portable IV.  Even as they started her on this medication, her heart started pumping well which made her overall health so much better. 

For the first time in many years, she felt hungry and wanted to order all sorts of food.  She would wake up in the morning and would be thinking about what to order for breakfast.  She hadn't shownn any interest in food in ages!  Even the hospital cafetaria was refusing to send all the food she wanted until the doctor told them to give her whatever she wanted.  The doctors were very happy to see her so well and she was happy.  She knew that she had got a new lease on life.

They sent her home with portable IV and even though it was heavy and cumbersom machine to hang around her neck all the time, she never complained about it.  She was excited and interested in things again.  It was just so amazing to watch her.  When she was released, she refused the wheelchair.  I bought a card for the ICU staff and asked her if she would want to sign it.  To my surprise, she thought about what to write in it all night - so happy she was to be alive again.  Knowing her, I thought she would forget all about it and wouldn't be interested in it.  But she actually asked me for the card and wrote a big note thanking the ICU staff.  It started with something like - 'Can you imagine how I feel... you gave me second life...'.  It came from her Heart and was very touching.  It is just that she had been so low and disinterested in everything for so long because of CHF that it was just the best thing to watch the difference.  Then she and I drove to the Hospital and she was so proud to be able to walk all the way to ICU.  She was beaming with happiness as she handed the card over to Brian, the RN.  On our way out, we saw Dr. Rahko, her cardiologist and he was very surprised and delighted to see her doing so well.  

In this picture where she is sitting, smiling and, in Dr. Perry's words, looking very mejestic was taken in early July this year after she returned from ICU.  She looks like a picture of health and happy.  How could anyone looking at it imagine that in less than two months she would be gone?

Oh, that was for such a short time.  As she said, she had forgotten to smile and the doctors gave her the gift to feel happy again.  She wanted to live and she was happy that she was given a second chance.