one thousand eight hundred and twenty six days

.

revised. 12.29.06

:+:

this week has been a torturous obstacle course of pain for my soul.

even after i thought i had cried away all the tears i could possibly produce...there are more.  as i type this, my swollen eyes ache, my nose is raw from the ministrations provided by "extra-soft" tissue, my head pounds like i have a grief hangover.  that's nothing, though. my heart feels a million times worse than all of that.

i have never had a good NYE.  something horrific always happens- i get mugged, have knock-down drag-out fights with my bf as the ball drops blocks away, i'm trapped on a sub-standard flight home after nightmarish delays and layovers, i have to bury my daddy...

:+:

today is december 31, 2003.  december 31. 

a day that shall live in infamy.  i thought you broke my heart on december 23rd, when you went to the ICU, never to wake again...but i was wrong.  december 23, 29, 31...i now have a triumvirate of dates which destroy the last month of the year, each of them worse than the one which it follows, for the horrific milestone each represents.

december 23.

i was in davis, 28 miles away.  mom called.  "come to the hospital, now."

click.

i made it to you in 20 minutes, daring the CHP to pull me over. they'd have to catch me, and that gigantic eight-valved mercedes you bought me first, motherfuckers. at 100 miles per hour, the engine was producing a dull roar which i couldn't hear, not because the car was so perfectly insulated (and born for such speeds, really), but because the noise in my nearly-insane head was deafening.

i parked in the first area that looked like a space, barely remembering to turn off and then lock the car. i ran up four flights of stairs, burst in to the ICU through that ugly, prison-like door. everything stretched in to slow motion as i stood there, immobilised. nurses, doctors, medical assistants looking at me with pity and fear; they knew who i was, they knew how my father felt about me, they knew how i would react to what i was about to see.  my mother had opened that hospital, trained more than half of the eyes that gazed at me so sorrowfully.  one nurse, tears in her eyes pointed to the right, wordlessly.  i don't remember walking up to that room.  i do remember standing in the doorway, thinking that if i reversed my steps, ran down the stairs backwards, and sped back to davis at 100mph, i could still change things, make them different.  rewind, right?  my mother looked up at me with an unfamiliar blankness flattening her face.  i ignored her and took your other hand.

i kept vigil by your bed, avoiding food, water, sleep and cynical, perfunctory proclamations that you were "gone".  they wanted to take you off of life support, and i calmly told them the same thing every single time;  "if you do, then i will forever consider you his murderer."  i couldn't bear the thought. it's easy to scoff at people keeping loved ones on ventilators until it's your precious daddy hovering between life and death.  no one would "unplug" that cord.  not while i lived.  "he has no chance at survival."  thank you for your opinion, now please get out.  i want to be alone with my father.  and frankly, he wants to be alone with me, since i'm the ONLY ONE not hatefully anticipating his death.

several times a day i would pass out from an exhaustion that i pray i never know ever again; an exhausted body is nothing compared to a spent heart.  i pressed your feet constantly, the way the king's feet were tended to in "Mahabharat", the serial we joyfully watched in its entirety twice.  when i did lose consciousness my hands were still clutching your feet, pressing them to my face, the smell of death ready-woven in to that hospital blanket.  i used your shins as a pillow. you would kick me awake, it was the slightest stirring, but it was you, you were moving again.  each time my heart would lift a tiny bit in my chest, strain against my ribs, flutter back to life...could it be?

my eyes would blaze with faith and invariably a doctor or nurse would be there to cluck at me pitifully.  "anna, that doesn't mean anything.  he's moving but that doesn't mean he'll wake up.  it's an involuntary spasm."  my eyes would race from the messenger, kill the messenger for such blasphemy...my eyes would rush back to your face. mental telepathy.  fuck them, daddy.  what do they know?  they are mortal.  they can be wrong.  "kick me again" i'd murmur.  "again."  i still believed.

december 29th, 1998

six days passed and i was finally convinced to go home, four miles away, and shower.  nurses had taken turns combing my long, wavy, tangled and neglected hair while i passed out.  i wouldn't let them near me if i was awake, because they disturbed my concentration, my absolute devotion to your face, your breathing, your heart rate.  i had never looked at a tv or a movie screen with the absolute attention i gave your hospital monitors.

so, i would occasionally sleep.  and i'd wake up with my hair braided. i could not have cared less.  i promised you that i would be gone for 20 minutes exactly; five minutes home, ten minute shower, five minutes back.  i stood at the end of your bed, each of my hands wrapped around one of your feet.  i bent over and touched my forehead to your toes, stealing your blessing.  "don't go anywhere, daddy.  i'll shut them up with this shower and i'll be right back."  it was a simple, unbeatable plan; five minutes home, ten minute shower, five minutes back...

it was the only time i left your side.

five minutes home...one minute in the shower...the bathroom door opening...a blur outside the glass which entombed me in my tub-- a glass door that engineer-you installed b/c i didn't want a shower curtain...my mother's voice, thickened with pain and unshed tears...

"Latha." 

she said nothing more.  she didn't need to.

"oh god, no, why?  i wasn't there.  oh my god he was alone.  he died alone.  why did i come back here? how could i leave him like that?"

i collapsed against tile, not noticing cold or soap scum, just feeling white pain.  and water.  i am in water. what do you do with water when your life is over? 

i put on the darkest, ugliest sari i had.  you loved me in indian clothes, told me i was born to wear them.  if i was born to wear them, i would die in them too, and that is what i knew i was going to do, during a life without you.  the last time you "saw" me through a corpse's eyelids, i'd be mummified in silk. i wouldn't find out until years later, that when you had gone to india just months before your death, you had come back with my wedding sari..."just in case".  i had never decided on whether i would wear a white dress or kanjeevaram silk or both...you decided for me.  i can see the conspiratorial wink you must have given the owner of that sari boutique, when you had them wrap up my future in scented tissue.

when i made it back to the hospital, all of your tubes had been removed.  the death blanket was gone; a simple, crease-free white sheet draped perfectly over your lifeless body.  your mouth was open.  it didn't look dignified.  i hesitated, then gingerly reached over and tried to close it.  you were past the point of feeling anything, let alone pain, but i was so scared i would hurt you as i moved your chin upwards. your jaw no longer worked; it wouldn't shut. that was when i knew you were truly gone.  and that was when i finally understood all of those unintentionally sepia-coloured pictures of my grandparent's funerals back home in Kerala.  why they always had white linen tied around their faces.  it was so that they wouldn't look like you.

december 31, 1998.

we buried you on inopportune New Year's eve b/c the next available day was my birthday.  i opted for my birthday, but mom said no.  i would hate New Year's eve passionately for the rest of my life.  five years ago, one desecrated holiday would guarantee that, decisively.

five years ago, today, right now, i couldn't sleep. i had never delivered a eulogy before and i wasn't prepared.  can you ever be prepared for that?  is anyone ever ready to say farewell formally to their father in front of hundreds of people?  i've given dozens of performances in my life and nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared me for that walk up to the podium, that dull microphone, that mute crowd, eyes riveted to me.

five years ago, today, in exactly nine hours a funeral liturgy commenced.  an hour after that, my mother's mind snapped and she tried to throw herself in to a fresh wound in the earth, to be with my father.  i actually had to throw ice water in her face to bring her back to reality.  i felt like a bitch, not for drenching her, but for bringing her back...to this.

five years ago today, i touched my daddy for the last time.  i saw his face a final moment before they closed the coffin, but it wasn't his face; in real life, he didn't wear make-up and his hair wasn't parted like that.  these eleventh hour indignities couldn't hurt me, because i was so numb. 

five years ago today, a box containing my greatest ally, mentor and source of love was put twelve feet under ground, never to see light again.  my heart was buried with it.  i have never been the same since.

five years ago today, the world tipped slightly and i almost stumbled off, stiletto heels slipping on grass slick from tears, mine and the angel's...a muddy hill is no place for limousine shoes.  i didn't care.  i wasn't going to say good-bye to you and look ugly.  the oversized chanel sunglasses you secretly loved, b/c they reminded you of your beloved "jackie", they couldn't shield my already ravaged eyes from further torment.  the bright san francisco sun couldn't burn hot enough to remove the braille from my arms.  jesus, mohammed and krishna could've shown up and i wouldn't have noticed or cared unless they were preparing to resurrect you.  my mind, my vicious, over-active mind conjured the same horrific thought over and over again; "you are consummately alone.  forever."

who's going to love you now?

who'd going to take your side?  protect you?  guide you with the wisdom of the ancients?  cover you with your quilt when you sleep? fuss over your car?  scream at you when you've been bad?  cry inwardly for you when you've been had?  gloat when you win?  rail against the system/heaven/universe when you lose?

who's going to make you milky coffee every morning, pour it in to HIS stainless steel tumbler, (the tumbler no one is even allowed to wash, lest it somehow become polluted) and then painfully limp up the stairs despite the advancing decay of parkinson's disease to stubbornly present it to you, thus letting the smell of kappipala be the world's sweetest alarm clock ever?  who's going to impatiently mutter "finish it" and then grunt after you say "thank you, daddy"?

who's going to cook your dinner separately when your mother spitefully throws onions in the curry? who's going to tell you stories about your last name, your ancestors, your blood?  who will buy the house in kottayam, near "best bakery", so that the errand boy can fetch your favourite pastries for continental breakfast every morning if necessary?  who will walk you down the aisle?  who will you look at when you make your victory speech, when you eventually run and get elected?  who will brag about you to friends and especially enemies on four continents?  who will infuriate you like no other yet own your heart b/c it's a cardiac copy of his own? 

who?

only you, daddy, only you.

:+:

daddy i love you, and i miss you more now than i did then.

i'm sorry i'm didn't go to law school.

i'm sorry i'm not married to a good syrian christian malayalee boy.

i'm sorry that the last time we talked on the phone, i hung up on you, b/c we fought.

i'm sorry i'm not the girl you dreamed i could be, prepared me to be, needed me to be.

most of all, i'm sorry i never got to say good-bye or thank you or i love you...

my hair is long now.  i wear saris more often than ever.  i'm not opposed to arranged marriages.  i came home from new york and i rarely go out to party.  five years after you could have delighted in it, i have become the daughter you deserved. 

i go to church constantly.  every time i do, a candle is lit in front of the altar.  it burns for a week, on the left side of the church, the side for the dead.  i burn forever, on the left side of G-d, who obviously hates me a little because he took you away from me.

from the left and right sides of church, the choir sing the memorial hymn in greek, then english;

may his memory be eternal.
everlasting be his memory.
may his memory be eternal...

...it deserves to be, for that is how long i will yearn for your love.

Comments

[maya]

Ohhh Anna.

I'm very sorry for your loss.

*Hugs*

[Rezwan]

My condolences. Your writings show how much you love your dad. Death ends a life, not a relationship.

[Emma]

Anna, I am very sorry for you loss. This is such a well-writeen, touching entry. I was crying before I finished.

[Soumya]

Anna, hugs.

[Ani]

I am so sorry for your loss. I pray that 2007 will be a blissful year for you.

[Ajay]

Came to your site from SM.

What a moving piece from you? I am so sorry for your loss, may you have more strength to cope it!

[kit-and-kumari]

that is heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

belated condolences.

[sakshi]

I am terribly sorry for your loss.

"i'm sorry i'm not the girl you dreamed i could be"

Though it is not for me to say this, I am sure he was always terribly proud of you. Parents are often more understanding than we give them credit for.

[Margin Fades]

Anna...I wondered why you were so silent over at SM lately. As I started reading this post, I was sorry to read that you'd just lost your father...and then I'm further saddened to realize it happened a while ago, and your pain is as yet raw.

**hugs** <-- all I can think to offer, from a distance... You're a brilliant jewel of a person, and I enjoyed meeting you at the NY SM meetup. Hang in there, akka.

[Anand]

I empathize and dread your December days. Growing up I would pray to be spared of loss, that I be taken first; I have not experienced loss and that begs me if I have loved deeply ever.

Anna, I am sure your Father loved and cared for you deeper because you disagreed.

[sha]

anna,
am terribly sorry for your loss, **hugs**
i trust, he must be smiling down on you right this instance, for he can never be much more prouder to have fathered a woman like you. < chest puffing >
**hugs again**

[Clinton]

Sorry for your loss, only time will ease the pain.

I'm thankful I've never experienced that. My Dan passed away when I was 2 so I don't really remember or miss him.

[g]

:.(..

-anon1

[sk]

It is so painful to lose a beloved parent. I lost my father 15 years ago to lung cancer. He was in enormous pain throughout his illness. I have so many happy memories of him, yet to this day, I always think of him in the hospital, emaciated and skeletal, crying in pain. I have to force myself to conjure up the happier, healthier images. I can only tell you that time makes it a bit easier, but the smallest thing will always have the power to make you weep for him. That's how it is for me after 15 years without my Appa. I hope 2007 brings you peace of mind.

[jiby]

Anna, this is the most touching post i have seen on blogworld. you are an amazing writer...ur dad if he can read what you have written here, will be proud of you...i have no words to console you.

[Jeet]

Anna, just came here from SM while reading the VT tragedy. Before I had tears in my eyes, now I have a lump in my throat. I am sorry for your loss

[Prabha]

Anna, I feel for you. I lost my dad this past Nov under very similar circumstances. On a ventilator for a month. Watched his eyes stop moving and knew when he left. I don't think I will ever stop missing appa. Thanks for your post.

[Shalini]

Dear Anna,

I was brought here via a link on SM today and was incredibly touched by this entry. My heart aches for your loss immensely, and your love for your father is so strongly felt in your words.

Please don't think you were never the daughter your father wanted--he loved you unconditionally. That was obvious from what you wrote.

[Urmila]

Dear Anna,

While I am regular lurker at Sepia, I have almost never commented, even though you writing has touched me many times. But this beautiful and extremely painful account made me cry like a baby and I felt that I had to comment - this is a very personal comment but I feel that I really know through your writing, please bear with me.

I lost my father (after a long and horrible battle with cancer) last year in similar circumstances. The worst thing is, of course, the many things that I didn't do for my father, even when I knew he was dying... Why I let him see that I was tired and irritated with his demands, Why I couldn't have taken him boating more frequently when I knew how much he enjoyed that, Why I didn't sit and talk to him incessantly instead of wasting the time online trying to find some treatment for an incurable disease, Why I waited till he was in a coma in the ICU to tell him how much I loved him, what a great dad he had been and that I was so grateful for everything that he had done for me. I don't know if he knew all of this - I never *really* told him.

I understand so well what you feel about not having been the kind of daughter your father wanted, I feel that so much too and also lots of guilt for failing him in so many ways especially because he was such a great dad. I too will miss my father & his unconditional love forever. HUGS & love

[kayah]

anna,

i cried and cried. for you. for my appa. for your appa. for all the times that i have been indifferent. for ammi .. whom i love to hate. for not having the patience to deal with their incessant questions .. what did you eat for breakfast? (uff, amma!!) are you working too hard? (appa, please!) ..when will you come home? (cant say.. its been so busy lately)
i wish i could call them and tell them unabashedly how deeply i love them. its 4 a.m. i'll do it tomorrow .. i will.

bless you anna

[hari]

this layout is soooo not u :(((

posting this comment couple of entries down the latest post to let u know that we (i) have read the same entry in better layouts

get back soon anna !

[Spartacus]

Hello Anna,

Links to posts on Sepia Mutiny had come up several times on google, but I didn't actually click on one of them until yesterday. And, yesterday happened to be one of those few and far between days when I had time on my hands to do some online non-work; I therefore drilled into an SM link, and read some of the posts by your fellow mutineers and yourself.

I must say this one post left me with a pain in my heart. So much so that I returned to read it again this morning. It did, in some ways, remind me of my own father. I regret to this day that I didn't try hard enough to save his life over a decade ago. I am reminded of my guilt each time I look into my widowed mother's eyes. Some of the comments to this post already reflect sentiments akin to my own.

I'm truly sorry for your loss. The passing of a loved one is hard to get over.

There's an eloquence about your style of expression that I couldn't emulate even if it was the only way to save my life. Please do keep your literary juices flowing, for I intend to return as often as posible to read your writings.

Regards,
Spartacus

[suede]

I just happened to read this today.

I am crying.
I can only imagine what you must have felt, but you've written, of your grief, in a way that really touches people on the inside.

Keep writing. You have a gift.

[Cal]

Your writing really touched me. The pain of losing a parent never goes away and your post expresses that so deeply. He is looking down on you and is very proud.

[Foreign Desi]

I have never read such a beautiful tribute. You are lucky that you knew someone who cared so much about you and really taught you the meaning of love and parenthood.