Remembering Mom

Grief on some days flows like a quiet, rippling stream
On other days like thunderous waves, crashing around,
But it hardly matters if the approach is gentle or wild, It always ends up eroding the very grounds
On which I try hard to anchor with the busyness of everyday life

Grief ruthlessly cuts through any activity, speech or thoughts
And in that moment, sweeps me right off my feet
Leaving me either overwhelmed or so numb and still
That I am not even sure if I can breathe.
And I am mostly left in a crumble that seems so hard to smoothen.

I am yet to get to a place when I can foresee moments,
when this grief will overcome me, though I have tried.
I would run out of metaphors to explain
The countless ways in which the memories hide,
And unpredictably peep out, leak, spring out of things.

A phone call, lavender soap, a half completed sweater,
Medicine strips, Yardley powder, R K Laxman books
The sari bags tucked away in a wardrobe I hardly open,
Red bindis, cloves, dishes she loved to cook,
I thought decluttering, packing up and moving will help.
It didn’t.

I know I need to give into the flow of this grief,
For in the pain lies the hope that in some way,
It will also sweep away the guilt, the regret, the loss I carry
Behind the semblance of normalcy I put up every day.

And though it seems like grief is winning every single encounter.
I know there will be a time when grief knocks me down,
Yet I will get right up, and win that game fair and square,

And I will remember to breathe again and not think
Of what could have been, but be grateful for what was there.

And then I know I will finally be ready to look up at the night skies,
Past my own need to hear her voice once again
Past the mom-shaped hole she left in my world.
And see her – no longer a diabetic, a wife or even a mom,
But simply her daddy’s little girl,
Walking hand in hand with him, finding peace at last.