Silently returning from the cemetery and in the ways of our tradition, I stopped at the front of our home to *cleanse. Then I went indoors and I bathed before I could settle myself to rest. My mother, my wife, my sisters and the other family women were already in the house preparing for our evening.
We are sitting in the living room – just looking at one another or blankly into some space on the wall or the floor, it didn’t matter. And the tea that was served didn’t taste the same. There was nothing much to say and I for one couldn’t.
In the early evening the pundit came to perform the puja. We all prayed together for our baby, our son, my angel, asking God to keep him safe and close to Him.
The next day Hemma’s father came to my house and declared he had come to take his daughter home with him; that they would take care of her there. I asked my wife if this is what she wanted and she said, “Yes.”
She then asked me to go with her. I couldn’t, I could not even imagine going over there with them. I did want my wife, I needed her to stay here with me. This was our home. She left that same day.
I was sure we needed each other to try and bring a sense of comfort in this shared broken-hearted pain, to mourn together but no, it seemed she needed to go back to her father and mother, to their home. I didn’t know if there was a right or wrong in this event; I tried to understand but it was really all too much.
Weeks passed, I was feeling heavy-hearted and I thought many times how my wife must be getting on. Although I had all the blessed love and support of my dear family, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being all alone. I couldn’t bring myself to go anywhere, much less out of my room, not even to work.
One weekend it happened that Noori came down to the house to see how the family was getting on. I know she had clues from her best friend, my little sister. I suppose Noori thought she ought to wait a while before coming over. I know she wanted to see for herself how Gary was doing. Perhaps she also thought Hemma may return …
She went straight into the kitchen and prepared tea for the family. Then she brought a cup into my room for me. No one seemed to mind that we stayed in the room for long hours, just talking. My mother knew this was more helpful at this point than anything else.
Noori reminded me of her promise; that she’d be around for me in case of emergency, and if ever I needed a different ear that would listen. She said, “I am here to share your grief, your pain and I’ll come as often as I can so you can always use my shoulder to cry on.”
This girl helped me so much just by being there for me. I was able to breathe again as I had someone to talk with, like a best friend who provided for me a way to express my feelings without reserve, about my child and how I was feeling with regard to the rest of my world.
We were getting closer and I was comfortable now with my support network. Everything happened so fast!
One day Hemma sent her two courier pigeons my way with a note. The message basically was an ultimatum which stated that if I wanted her back in my life, I would have to move into her family’s house.
Otherwise she’d never come back to me. Why oh why did I have a feeling this wasn’t my wife’s voice in these words? What a sticky situation and what a demand!
Unimaginable! No, no and still, no!
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*cleanse – it is in our tradition when immediate family and the close relatives return from a funeral to the home we must first approach the basin of water which has been set-up next to a smoldering fire outside the house. A mango leaf is in it.
We take the leaf, dipping into the blessed water, sprinkling it upon ourselves 3 times and then turn to the smoke of the fire, bringing the smoke towards ourselves in a blessing sort of way; like it’s preventing any unwelcome whatever from the funeral location. Then bathing and fresh clothes follow.
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