I had a dream last night. Somehow in this alternate world and time line Nao and Jo had just gotten married and I was some how talking to Sara-mchi (or was it Mrs. Zachariah?) who had called to ask about some detail related to their wedding. My grand parents from mum's side (the Bigzes) had passed away a while back or so I thought, but while taking the aforementioned phone call I was downstairs in their house. Also for some reason in that world everyone had websites like Facebook profiles, with paragraphs about themselves, and Big Papa's website / profile was unusually irreverent and light hearted.
I saw that someone, most probably an official or bureaucrat charged with closing up both the Bigzes affairs had inspected the profile and had commented line by line questioning light hearted statements and jokes, and replacing them with more serious stuffy versions of them more 'befitting' an 88 year old. Suddenly, I saw Big Papa walk into his own house. He had some remnants of a hospital stay on him like a few bandages, etc., but he was otherwise perfectly fine. Not the same person who had been bedridden for so many years. A younger, smiling, strong, incredibly handsome, joking version of him. Acting extremely normal, talking on a cell phone and definitely not dead. I jumped up from the dining table and hugged him for the longest time. I told him we had all thought he'd passed away and he joked about it. He said he'd just been in hospital after an accident and was back now. He even started laughing and making fun of the bureaucrat's stuffy version of his website. I hugged him again for the longest time and woke up so incredibly happy.
Immediately after I woke up I realised that not only was he dead in reality, but that in addition I'd lost my other grand father recently as well. As tears filled my eyes and I cried quietly into my sweater, my thoughts were wildly roving and wildly conflicting. I felt so sad that I'd never see Big Papa again. I missed him terribly immediately. At the same time I felt so incredibly grateful to fate, to God, to anyone at all, that I could remember him as he was before the numerous years of illness ate into him. I've never been able to remember him that way in recent years and I spent a good deal of time just trying to remember him from my dream. I felt so happy basking in the warmth of his loving hug still warm and vividly remembered from the dream.
I felt so incredibly guilty that I had never spent time with him. I wish I had, but I was too busy enjoying my own life with the living, not worried or caring about those who were old, immobile and halfway dead. I felt sad and alone thinking of how in reality it was 3 / 4 grand parents gone not just 1 / 4 like in my dream. I didn't feel like an adult anymore but like a little child drowning in a sea of isolation and loss. Losing all anchors surely and not quite slowly.
I felt guilty for feeling sad since at some level I was having a mental conversation with my family about the dream and my feelings about it in my head and they seemed to have more of a right to grieve at my grandparents' deaths than I did, and I felt selfish making this about me and my feelings rather than about their grief. I also felt incredibly guilty because I felt like reflecting about all these feelings about grief made me strangely inhuman, more able to reflect than feel. Somehow my reflections seemed like disingenuous grief, fake and hyper self aware, semi-human and mechanical.
I thought for a second how mum always talked about dead loved ones entering your dreams as a sign that their spirits were nearby and watching over us. Then I remembered that i didn't believe in any of that metaphysical nonsense. I had the selfish, self centred thought that in reality not believing in some spirit world, either in some heaven or on earth as the spirits of loving ancestors made the process of grieving so much harder and the concept of death so much more terrifying and final. Especially when everyone else around you believed in some eternal life where people could magically live forever after dying in the physical world and that you could see them again once you died. ESPECIALLY when talking about your beliefs in rationalism seemed like an insult / disrespect both to the incredible faith of your grandparents and to the grieving process of your family who might take some succour in the belief of their loved one's eternal life.
I started thinking about Velliappa and I realised that I can't remember much about my time with him. Unlike Big Papa's final years, I had spent so much time with him, but I couldn't remember those times clearly at all. Everything was muddy. I cursed my memory. It always served me so well for everything, except as my memory of people and my autobiographical past.
I think my greatest fear is that of forgetting my family. To wake up one day with Alzheimer's disease, not remembering anyone or anything that I loved and made my life special all these years. Surprisingly enough, I'm also not the one always carrying a camera to remember every occasion with a thousand vivid reminders. I guess I always forget my greatest fear. Until it's too late.
I saw that someone, most probably an official or bureaucrat charged with closing up both the Bigzes affairs had inspected the profile and had commented line by line questioning light hearted statements and jokes, and replacing them with more serious stuffy versions of them more 'befitting' an 88 year old. Suddenly, I saw Big Papa walk into his own house. He had some remnants of a hospital stay on him like a few bandages, etc., but he was otherwise perfectly fine. Not the same person who had been bedridden for so many years. A younger, smiling, strong, incredibly handsome, joking version of him. Acting extremely normal, talking on a cell phone and definitely not dead. I jumped up from the dining table and hugged him for the longest time. I told him we had all thought he'd passed away and he joked about it. He said he'd just been in hospital after an accident and was back now. He even started laughing and making fun of the bureaucrat's stuffy version of his website. I hugged him again for the longest time and woke up so incredibly happy.
Immediately after I woke up I realised that not only was he dead in reality, but that in addition I'd lost my other grand father recently as well. As tears filled my eyes and I cried quietly into my sweater, my thoughts were wildly roving and wildly conflicting. I felt so sad that I'd never see Big Papa again. I missed him terribly immediately. At the same time I felt so incredibly grateful to fate, to God, to anyone at all, that I could remember him as he was before the numerous years of illness ate into him. I've never been able to remember him that way in recent years and I spent a good deal of time just trying to remember him from my dream. I felt so happy basking in the warmth of his loving hug still warm and vividly remembered from the dream.
I felt so incredibly guilty that I had never spent time with him. I wish I had, but I was too busy enjoying my own life with the living, not worried or caring about those who were old, immobile and halfway dead. I felt sad and alone thinking of how in reality it was 3 / 4 grand parents gone not just 1 / 4 like in my dream. I didn't feel like an adult anymore but like a little child drowning in a sea of isolation and loss. Losing all anchors surely and not quite slowly.
I felt guilty for feeling sad since at some level I was having a mental conversation with my family about the dream and my feelings about it in my head and they seemed to have more of a right to grieve at my grandparents' deaths than I did, and I felt selfish making this about me and my feelings rather than about their grief. I also felt incredibly guilty because I felt like reflecting about all these feelings about grief made me strangely inhuman, more able to reflect than feel. Somehow my reflections seemed like disingenuous grief, fake and hyper self aware, semi-human and mechanical.
I thought for a second how mum always talked about dead loved ones entering your dreams as a sign that their spirits were nearby and watching over us. Then I remembered that i didn't believe in any of that metaphysical nonsense. I had the selfish, self centred thought that in reality not believing in some spirit world, either in some heaven or on earth as the spirits of loving ancestors made the process of grieving so much harder and the concept of death so much more terrifying and final. Especially when everyone else around you believed in some eternal life where people could magically live forever after dying in the physical world and that you could see them again once you died. ESPECIALLY when talking about your beliefs in rationalism seemed like an insult / disrespect both to the incredible faith of your grandparents and to the grieving process of your family who might take some succour in the belief of their loved one's eternal life.
I started thinking about Velliappa and I realised that I can't remember much about my time with him. Unlike Big Papa's final years, I had spent so much time with him, but I couldn't remember those times clearly at all. Everything was muddy. I cursed my memory. It always served me so well for everything, except as my memory of people and my autobiographical past.
I think my greatest fear is that of forgetting my family. To wake up one day with Alzheimer's disease, not remembering anyone or anything that I loved and made my life special all these years. Surprisingly enough, I'm also not the one always carrying a camera to remember every occasion with a thousand vivid reminders. I guess I always forget my greatest fear. Until it's too late.
