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10 April 2012

Time Does Not Bring Relief...

 ...You all have lied
Who told me Time would ease me of my pain*

I know what it is to fear losing your child. 

I lived that fear, albeit for a few months. Every moment of every day, when every cramp, ache, wince sent me searching for answers even as I drowned in a sea of anguish. 

I know what it feels like to have that fear come true.

Today, twelve years later, I still remember him, so like his older brother, so perfect in every way, no one could have said he was not whole. 

I remember holding him knowing I had only a short while to love him. 

I remember touching his little hand and feeling his fingers grasp mine with a strength that was astonishing, almost as if he hoped I would let him stay. His little face all scrunched up, eyes squeezed tightly shut, little tongue sticking out of his lips, snuffling a little, all warm and cuddly against my breast. 

I remember holding him, hot tears falling on his little face, and his instinctive reaction to them. 

I remember kissing my tears off his face, others falling thick and fast to take their place. 

I remember stroking his thick black hair, so like his brother's, off his forehead. He snuffled a little more, I remember. 

Then I remember the choked little gurgle he gave, as he gasped out his last breath.

I remember his little finger clutching mine, as if he didn't want to ever let go. His heartbeat stilled even as I hoped against impossible hope for a miracle that would never happen. 

But most of all, I remember him changing from warmth to ice in my arms within the space of twenty minutes.  

That's how long he lived before he died in my arms. That's how long I got to hold my son before they took him away from me. 

I still remember him. Every moment of every day, he lives on in a small corner of my heart.  He's gone, but not forgotten. Never forgotten. 

And somewhere deep inside, at the oddest of moments, like now, the grief of his loss still hurts. 

I have lost a child, to death. 
I understand what it must feel like to think of losing your children, albeit to life. 

I know what it is to lose someone you love, even if you were destined to only love them for a short while.
I know what it is to grieve.


*Sonnets: Edna St. Vincent Millay

22 comments:

  1. We meet, joke and laugh and one doesn't know what cross the other is carrying.
    No, I can't say I can feel what you have gone through, but I can imagine how it was.
    I wish you lots of energy and send you lots of love!
    HUGS!!!!

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  2. Anu, my heart goes out to you!  I have no words at this minute to console you, but know that I feel your pain, and ache with you.  Be brave, Anu!

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  3. Thanks, harvey. I didn't intend to publish it, I just wrote it.

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  4. My motto is 'Je suis survive'. But the mask slips sometimes.

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  5. I am really sorry to hear about your loss, and I hope you will continue to have the strength to deal with it.

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  6. Oh, Anu... what can I say? I'm sitting here at the other side of the Earth, and I'm actually crying, with my tears dripping into my lap. I haven't experienced what you have, but someday I'll tell you why this sad little poem affected me more now than it would have perhaps at any other time.

    *hugs*

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  7. One of those posts where it is difficult to comment since you haven't experienced the pain (maybe more so as a man in this specific case) but let's hope that as years go by, the pain/grief slips into oblivion and the pleasant reality of the current situation overshadows it completely...

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  8. Thanks, Madhu. (I'm sorry to have brought to mind something painful, Madhu. *hugs*)

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  9. I don't think the pain ever goes away. Or maybe it will. Thanks, Pradeep.

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  10. No need to say sorry, Anu... it just happens sometimes that as we go through life, bearing our own crosses, we find someone else whose cross resembles ours to a tiny degree - perhaps almost imperceptible. But it touches off a chord, and while one may weep, it also allows one to understand that one is not alone in one's grief. There are others who share similar burdens.

    I won't say "Stay strong" - that has been said to me, and it doesn't help. But know that there is somebody out here who cries because you suffered such a terrible - and unforgettable - loss. *hugs*

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  11. I won't say "Stay strong" - that has been said to me, and it doesn't help.

    oh, how very true! And, thank you.

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  12. My condolences, Anu. As is said, to purify gold, it has to be baptised by fire. Similarly, to purify the soul.....

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  13. Thanks, Shashi.

    ps: I don't want my soul 'purified', thank you very much. :)

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  14. Time does bring a sort a relief, you know, Anu; the relief of words, like the ones you wrote, the relief of friends, like those who love you; the relief of life, stronger than death. Living to share is what time can help us do!

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  15. I hope so, yves. Keeping fingers crossed that it is, indeed, so.

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  16.  I was on a forced exile thanks to my computer. I do not think that you are surprised to see me post a comment on this particular post. I know what it is to lose loved ones, no you just do not get over it. My dad did not even see his first born- a son- who passed away soon after he was born but till the end on every September 5th dad told mum" Today is our son's birthday". Yes I know how it feels.

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  17. I understand from where you are coming. I too lost my parents even before I was 26. I think that to make them happy, we ourselves should try and find that happiness. I am sure they will appreciate it from wherever they are. ...

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  18. *Hugs* Shilpi. Yes, you know how it feels.

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  19. My condolences for your loss, Shashi. It must have been hard.

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