The Final Goodbye

I missed meeting him on my last trip home. I was told he was doing ok. No one told me he was going to die. The other day, just the other day, he died. We were not closely related and I did not know him very well, but I did remember his impressive personality and his laughter. He called my mom 'didi', big sister, just like he called his own; and we called him 'mama ji', mother's brother, just like we called our own.

I got to know him better only in recent years. He was our very first visitor from home; my home; after I got married and moved here. He gave me gifts I am using even today. Later I got a chance to meet his son-in-law- an equally sweet person. I knew he was battling cancer, but he did get better; and I thought he was going to be just fine. No one told me no, he was not.

In a worldly wise manner, I thank God that both his children are married and 'settled'. My thoughts are no longer with him, but with his wife of all these years. I am not sure I can even ask her how she is doing. But I would like to think that she is at least partly relieved that he has been relieved of the constant pain, agony and wretchedness that the final years of his life had given him. I am told that towards the end, they had to drill a hole in his neck to put the tubes in...He looked weak, frail and sick enough to look like his own sister's father...and I am glad I missed meeting him on my last visit home. I would always like to remember him as the happy, strong person that he was. I can only imagine how hard it would be for his kids, especially the daughter to see her strong father in that state. Life is never going to be the same for anyone he was related to...

With every death of a person known to me, I see a person I knew, and who knew me, sometimes from the time I was born, gone, forever. A witness, a known factor, a relationship, a part of the family circle in some way, finished. One day; my mind tells me, for sure no one will know who I was, who was I related to, how and where I grew up, the mistakes I made, or that I was even here....

I am sure as humans, we would always stay hopeful and optimistic, even when we are fighting something deadly like cancer. But I am also sure I would hate to die in a hospital; just as I would hate it if I cannot hug my loved ones anymore; just as I would hate to stop them from living their life because of added responsibilities of my sickness. I would rather go peacefully, quietly, holding their hands, in the knowledge that they are around me, and that they are safe and secure and well taken care of.

As I write this, I wonder, why anyone would want to read this. And I think- what can be more universal than Death? And disease? Every death is a reminder that life is an illusion and yet, it must go on; and every birth is a reminder that no matter what, life WILL go on! …As another cousin battles cancer, I fear his fears; I hear the shallowness in his positive attitude, I see his weight loss; and yet, I hope he will get better.