On the day when the lotus bloomed alas, my mind was straying, and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.
Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.
That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to me that it was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion.
I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and this perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.
(Rabrindranath Tagore, Gitimalya 17/ Visva-Bharati, Gitabitan 137 (Puja))
I write on this day when so many lines of what once was and is, now intersect; when what was eventual, has passed.
My love has gone for most of this week, and we will be together only one day, and then I am gone for two weeks. My daughter leaves home when I am gone… overseas for two months, then to university in a city I have never been to. I will come back from this yoga intenstive I am going on, Svasti assures me, changed. In the meantime, my life changes forever.
The ghost of the past touched a brief shadow over a conversation I had with my daughter. She confirmed the decision I had made and the selfishness I rejected. How could you -if you are reading this post- leave your middle child out of your Christmas celebration when he needs you most? Yes, he is devstated. Why do you think he is stoning so much? Why did you leave, run away like you always have, instead of facing your problems?
This selfishness is why I did not choose you.
Do you recognise the song above? You gave me the book. I use it here to let you know that you are still selfish, uncaring, unthinking to those who matter most. You hurt them. Not me. I do not know you anymore.
And now to you, my unthinking ex-husband (who is a luddite and will never read this post). Norm passed away on Thursday afternoon. Thank you for calling me and letting me know (not). I found out via Mum and Dad. You called THEM. Not me, not your son. Do you not think we care and loved Norm, too? I know you are hurting because he was the father you never had – but if you can think of anything- how about being the father to your own son and having some respect for those who were and still are your family?
And of course, all this happens when Gary is not here.
Ben and I cried together for Norm, so full of life, so patient, so indestructable, and the vicious disease that took him so quickly. He did not deserve it, but it is as it is … and I KNEW HE HAD PASSED. Damn it, somehow I knew.