TREASURED TIMES WITH PARENTS

TREASURED TIMES WITH PARENTS

I remember making that last trip to my father who was in hospital suffering from his heart attack. He was covered with all kinds of medical equipment and I sat next to him on his bed. He saw a look of despair on my face and assured me that he was in good shape and would be discharged from hospital soon to go home. He forced a smile and I said what I had planned to say, “I love you Dad (Taji).”

My father replied, “I love you too, son but I want you to do two things for me. The first thing I want you do is to look after your mother after I am gone and the second thing is for you to recite a few couplets from the holy book Gita for me.”

I thanked him for teaching me some of those and I repeated almost all of them from my Gayatri Mantra to verses 7 and 8 of Chapter 4 of the Bhagwad Gita.  While I was reciting these he was listening intently but his eyes had tears in them. When I asked him the reason for his sorrow and tears in his eyes he said the tears were of joy that I heard my eldest child show me the route to my next home and then they were tears of sorrow for my son who I have burdened with added responsibility before going home.”

A lot of these did not make much sense then but they were all revealed when I got the message en route to my home that he was no more. I returned to take care of his funeral but was pleased that I made that last visit to my dying father and was able to communicate some of my last words to him.

After writing this episode in my ‘Sweet and Sour Reflections’ that is published on my various websites I heard from many people who had made that same difficult but essential journey to say their last goodbye to their parents and from others who could not make it in time or they know that they will be making that important journey soon. It was very sad to hear from those who missed their chance, who got delayed too long, and even now, years later, deeply regret it.

One of my friends wrote to me, “I will feel guilty about not having said my last goodbye to my father before his death to tell him one last time how much he meant to me.”

My next friend wrote, “I was fortunate like you that the last thing I ever said to my father was ‘I love you’ and for me to get that gift was one of the best things in my life.”

A lady friend of mine Anita was at her job in the city and when the call came from the nursing home that her mother was critically ill, she was fortunate to arrive at her mother’s bedside half an hour before her passing away. She wrote, “I was with my mother, holding her hand and saying every prayer that she had taught me into her ear.”

Then there was another person who I had not met but he wrote to say that he had spent his last annual leave with his father, walking on the beach and talking about life but two days later he received a call that his dad dropped dead while putting on his shoes. He was sixty-six, fit and in perfect health. So he said, I now tell people to make their connections now because you just never know what happens next.

Ganesh, who moved his dying mother back home added, “I am so grateful that I was able to have her with me for her final days.”

It took James many years and the death of his mother to realize something, “You see, big guys do cry,” and they do say, “ I love you, Mom.”

Joseph makes a point to have dinner with his seventy-six-year-old mother every day, not knowing which might be the last. “It is hard to say goodbye and to say how much you love your parents,” he wrote, “but better to say it than to leave it unsaid.”

Ratna made that last trip two years ago and said that it was difficult but the memories from my last few days with my Dad are nothing short of priceless.”

“I lost my father very suddenly, almost ten years ago, when he was only seventy three,” wrote Radha. “What I wouldn’t have given to have had a chance for one last meaningful visit.”

Likewise, Krish’s father left for his war duties twenty two years ago and never returned and he says, “I would give anything to have one more day with him.”

Devi looks at her aging parents and says, “I realize my time with them is nearing an end. As an only child who hasn’t married, I see that our branch of the family tree is about to fall off.”

Joe’s regrets have spanned the last half-century. He writes, “Fresh out of college and caught up in the demands of a new career, I never said those heartfelt words to my father in the late 1960s even though I knew that his heart disease would soon claim his life.”

I received another regret from some Michael who wrote, “My dad taught my brother and I that true men never told another man they loved him. I am sorry now that I never spoke that L-word to my dad. He never told us that he loved us either. I guess he thought we knew.”

I have formed my view on this issue now. This vital last visit to parents should never be delayed. We can procrastinate paying our taxes or paying our phone bills but never on telling our aging parents what is in our heart.

My beloved wife Saroj had a massive heart attack at home and was taken to the intensive care unit to be placed on life support that made talking impossible. She passed away two days later, all her four children beside her. The grieving husband was left looking at the drizzle of rain falling outside the window as if a gift was being sent from heaven.

I do not need to emphasise how treasured are those last few days together with our aging parents. I guess what I am getting at is that time is precious, life is short and it can end suddenly. So always let your aging parents know what you are feeling. Never wait.

Some trips home are harder than others but Raj’s trip was one of the hardest of all. Home for him was the house he grew up in, the home where his parents still lived, although for how much longer no one could say.

At eighty-eight, his mother was frail and forgetful but with her new hip replacement and heart bypass she was otherwise going strong. It was his father, who until a few months ago was always the robust one, physically strong, mentally sharp and of near boundless energy. However, then came the diagnosis of leukaemia followed by some other complications and the poison that was dished out to him as medicine.

Raj’s father did not want him to come because as he put it that Raj had his own family to look after but Raj showed up anyway. Disobedience for him never felt more correct.

Raj has narrated his story to me, “My father was home from hospital temporarily but the full and the devastating effects of the chemotherapy had not yet arrived. He was weak but comfortable, his mind clear. He was turning eighty- nine soon.

This was our opportunity to be together but neither of us would say it, although we both knew that the last day was coming closer. We usually sat at the kitchen table or the lounge or the balcony and talked. We just talked about life, health, home repairs and grandkids. When he grew tired he went to his bedroom to rest and I went outside to work in the garden or do some cleaning.

When I returned, the house was as quiet as a shrine and I walked from room to room with all my fond memories. The once- blazing but now the cold fireplace was silent. The furniture, the electronic and musical items and the kitchen sink that will always be synonymous with my mother were starring at me. At the basement I stood at the workbench where Dad had taught me to repair the furniture.

When Dad woke up, he asked me to bring him the wooden box I had made for him from hardwood at my industrial arts class. He opened the lid and one by one pulled out his most precious keepsakes.

Among them there was an old clock that my grand dad had given him as twenty-first birthday gift. There were a few school certificates that had distinctions engraved on them. And then there was one of his most treasured possessions of all, his grand father’s silver wedding ring. He described each one in detail and when he was done I put them back into the box and closed the lid.

We were passing time and after dinner I cleared and washed the dishes and retired in the family room. I summoned my nerve and asked my father for a favour. Would he mind letting me interview him about his life? I dreaded asking this because everyone knows that children do not ask for such things until time is running out.

My Dad cheerfully agreed and for the next two hours he talked and I listened as the video camera captured the stories of his life for my children and theirs to come. His story depicted his childhood, his work life, his community service and his family life. Even as he spoke, I felt that he was giving me the greatest gift possible.

The next morning we were all up before the sun, even Mom, who those days slept late. My flight waited to return me to my other life, the life of a husband, a father and a wage earner. As children always must, I had to leave.

In my family, men have never been demonstrative with their feelings because while growing up, my father and I would not greet each other with a hug or a kiss but with handshake.  We followed the rule that the love word was better shown than spoken but on that morning, standing in the porch, his walking stick dangling by his side Dad held out his arms to me.

“Dad,” I said, summoning the words I had said so seldom, “I love you.”

He responded so quickly, so automatically that the words just rushed out as if he had been waiting all those years for permission to speak.

“I love you too, Raju (Beta),” he said. My mother joined him too, “I love you heaps, Raju.”

Raju. This was my mother’s favourite word all along but my Dad had not called me by that loving name since I was a little boy.

On my drive to the airport, I realized something. Something big. There are hard trips home, but no wasted ones. So I have decided to make more trips home and more frequently,” concluded Raj.

One day we all will be staring into the face of death so it is only right and proper to keep saying ‘I love you’ to our loved ones with a hug, a kiss and a solid embrace.

When my own mother became sick and was bed-ridden at age seventy-four I could not be with her in the final hours because I was on assignment but my wife kindly volunteered to go and be with her to care for her in the final days. Within a fortnight my wife called me to say that the final hour for my mother was near so I rushed to be at her bedside.

In the meantime I told my wife to tell my mother that “I love her very much”. My expression of love was conveyed to my mother and I was later told by my wife that my mother opened her eyes and gave her a smile before she left this world. I still harbour regret in my chest that my mother passed away a few hours before I could reach her.

This is life where there are multiple opportunities for treasured times but we do meet regrets that keep hurting us. I have now completed my seventy-five years of happy living amongst my loved ones and as long as I live I would be satisfied with the love and affection that I have been getting from my own four children and their families.

May God Bless Them All.

OUR MOM AND DAD

They never look for praises
They are never ones to boast
They just go on quietly working
For those they love the most.

Their dreams are seldom spoken
Their wants are very few
And most of the time their worries
Will go unspoken too.

They are there, as a firm foundation
Through all our storms of life
A sturdy hand to hold to
In times of stress and strife.

They’re our true friends to turn to
When times are good or bad

The man and woman we call

Our loving Mom and caring Dad.

It’s one of our greatest blessings

When they love and care for us

The least we can say ‘I love you’

And visit them without any fuss.

(RLP for mothers’ day 2015)