Monday 28 July 2014

You left too soon Papa

This post has no connection with any piece of literature, film or video. It is about mourning the death of the man who was my father. We lost Papa suddenly. It has been a fortnight.

My earliest memory of Papa is the one of him carrying me in his arms, on his side, when I was 5 or 6. I had thought he was a stern man, since I recalled an incident when he had rebuked my mother harshly. And he carried me tenderly. I was a sickly child and had been unwell again. He walked up and down the verandah, up and down... with me in his arms... deep in thought. And he was lost in thought at the end too. He was only 77. Left alone for a minute he would look at the floor thinking of something. I knew when I saw him that way that he was probably thinking of death.

Another early memory is of him standing at the window, gasping for breath. He was asthmatic... from before I was born maybe. Prone to pneumonia maybe and given to self-medicating, until (in more recent years) my mother started administering his medicines. He needed to be hospitalised many, many times. And on several of those occasions it was touch and go. I've lost count of the times when I waited in dread for the news that he was no more, and hoped against hope. I think my first prayer was for Papa. To the Jesus he introduced me to. And Jesus never turned my prayer down. When the end came at 5:30 in the morning, Papa was alone in the washroom. He had been getting healthier and we didn't see it coming. There was not another plea sent up, not until it was too late. Later, I kept whispering, "Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died," but it was no use. (Why 'brother? Papa will be my brother in Heaven since God has only children; no grandchildren). As people started coming in, I thought, if only there would be a little time for us to pray by the body... On many of those times in the hospital, when he had been on a ventilator, or shivering from pneumonia and septicemia, or just medicated and in deep sleep, I would call, Papa, papa papa - until he responded. He responded on each of those times, except when Mummy and I half-carried, half- dragged his body out and laid him in the corridor... that last time. The doctor who visited said the cause of death was a cardio-respiratory arrest. The last thing we expected would take him. He was diabetic, had a sodium count of 134, and yes was hypertensive too, but we never thought a heart attack would be what we would lose him to.

My younger sister and I (before things turned acrimonious... about that in another post) discussed how he would have loosened his grip on life in those final moments. He wanted to live, I know that. I believe if he had realised it was the end he would have shouted out - Hallelujah! Not in joy, not even in fear quite, but in hope and prayer to the Lord he loved so deeply.

I found myself lost in thought again and again this afternoon. And I thought I knew what had been on his mind the last eighteen months, when it was touch and go every few days. (He was not hospitalised but was under medical supervision at home.) I thought I understood how he must have felt time closing in... you really ARE speechless and numb when reminded of your own sure mortality. Now that he is gone, I'm scattered and shorn ... Since I am single, I fear for my own end, which will come someday. Unless the Rapture happens first.

Another childhood memory is of a train-ride from Delhi to Kerala. I was about 10. Papa had gotten off at Nagpur I think it was, to get some water for the family to drink, and almost missed the train. The TC blew the whistle and I looked through the bars of the train window scanning the length of the station, but there was no sign of him. I waited in dread for a few minutes, and then came the tears and prayers. Of course he appeared a little later, smiling widely. He'd re-boarded at the last minute and had walked the length of the train appearing, minus the water I think. You'll not miss the train to Heaven, Papa.

As the people leave, and as the phone stops ringing, I pick up the thread of my loss again. So Papa, until the Lord Himself comes down from Heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God... when we shall meet again.

3 comments:

  1. Touched... but i must say you write so well... i know its tough to keep yourself at peace after what you and your family faced so suddenly and this kind of a loss is irreplaceable.. but god knows it all and he will surely lead you and your dear ones in peace and strength each day.. it was indeed nice to know such a loving, caring nice person as uncle was and will always remain... God bless...

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  2. Thanks Jessy. The loss is indeed irreplaceable... Many reasons for why he should not have gone just yet, but like you said, God knows it all.

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  3. That is a well written glimpse of our dear father. He was a man of little words but touched many life's with his simplicity. As he rests in peace, his memories lives on.

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