[Below is what I shared at our last Awakin Circle, following Wisdom of Grieving reading and John's opening.]
Being in this circle, today, I think a mystery of my life might've solved itself.
This was a long time back. I was 19 or so, when I lost my Dad. He was just 47 and there were no signs that we would lose him. One fine day, we just lost him. I was very close to him, so this was a particularly difficult time for me.
Culturally, in India, the grieving process is not very private, because everybody in the immediate and extended family, friends, neighbors and even those who don't know you all that well, would all want to be with you. That's actually quite helpful, particularly with the denial stage of the grieving process -- because the community support really helps you accept things as they are.
We were six sisters, and I was the oldest. My youngest sister was around 2 years of age, my mother was 42, and it was a shocking time for all of us. Yet, our family background was very spiritual and so accepting death was seen as a natural flow of life. Personally speaking, I didn't cry. My mother's reaction was similarly that, "Okay, he has passed away because it was his time to go. We're not going to mourn. We are just going to wish him well for a peaceful transition."
It so happened that Dinesh and I were supposed to go on a vacation in a couple months -- and it was my Dad that had bought our tickets! Given all that the family was going through, and what I was going through, such a trip was the last thing on my mind. But to honor my father's last gift, we decided to go.
In India, whenever there is a death in the family, close family members would wear white clothes. So, on this trip, I was dressed in white when we left and boarded our train to Kashmir.
Right before boarding, I remember, we were in the waiting room, with another family. An old lady saw me, lowered her back, and peered into my eyes. I still remember because her presence was so strong. And she asked me, "My daughter, why are you wearing white?"
Just those words, and I broke down completely. [Tears]
That was the first time I accepted my father's death.
I was so surprised that even though I was surrounded by lots of loving people, it was a stranger that shook me. A stranger? My mother, sisters, my in-laws, friends were all there with such care, but a connection with a stranger is what completed my grieving cycle.
Today, with all of you, I realize that what opened me up at that train station was presence. Somebody's presence alone can be strong enough to make you do so many things, including accept reality as it is. Thank you.
Being in this circle, today, I think a mystery of my life might've solved itself.
This was a long time back. I was 19 or so, when I lost my Dad. He was just 47 and there were no signs that we would lose him. One fine day, we just lost him. I was very close to him, so this was a particularly difficult time for me.
Culturally, in India, the grieving process is not very private, because everybody in the immediate and extended family, friends, neighbors and even those who don't know you all that well, would all want to be with you. That's actually quite helpful, particularly with the denial stage of the grieving process -- because the community support really helps you accept things as they are.
We were six sisters, and I was the oldest. My youngest sister was around 2 years of age, my mother was 42, and it was a shocking time for all of us. Yet, our family background was very spiritual and so accepting death was seen as a natural flow of life. Personally speaking, I didn't cry. My mother's reaction was similarly that, "Okay, he has passed away because it was his time to go. We're not going to mourn. We are just going to wish him well for a peaceful transition."
It so happened that Dinesh and I were supposed to go on a vacation in a couple months -- and it was my Dad that had bought our tickets! Given all that the family was going through, and what I was going through, such a trip was the last thing on my mind. But to honor my father's last gift, we decided to go.
In India, whenever there is a death in the family, close family members would wear white clothes. So, on this trip, I was dressed in white when we left and boarded our train to Kashmir.
Right before boarding, I remember, we were in the waiting room, with another family. An old lady saw me, lowered her back, and peered into my eyes. I still remember because her presence was so strong. And she asked me, "My daughter, why are you wearing white?"
Just those words, and I broke down completely. [Tears]
That was the first time I accepted my father's death.
I was so surprised that even though I was surrounded by lots of loving people, it was a stranger that shook me. A stranger? My mother, sisters, my in-laws, friends were all there with such care, but a connection with a stranger is what completed my grieving cycle.
Today, with all of you, I realize that what opened me up at that train station was presence. Somebody's presence alone can be strong enough to make you do so many things, including accept reality as it is. Thank you.
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