...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.