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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


  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!

  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!

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

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

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

  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.


  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...

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

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

  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*

  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.

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

  13. Thanks, Shashi.

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

  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!

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

  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.

  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. ...

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

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


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