HAPPY BIRTHDAY TAREK

Tarek with you I see a magical world that I’m excited to live in. A world like you that is loving, compassionate, caring, understanding, non-judgmental, fair and dynamic 

With you I understand the true meaning of kindness, tolerance and acceptance 

With you I’ve found a playful side to life and I look forward to being even more silly together 

With you I breathe a different air. One that is fresh, light and more vibrant than anything else I’ve ever experienced 

With you I wanna discover (and kiss in) every corner of this world and marvel at the beauty and splendour of this planet we live on

With you I see the possibility of discovering our creative energies and manifesting joy through whatever we bring to the world 

With you I stand in awe at the kind of human being you are. The way you move through life with such heart, compassion & tenderness yet determination, resilience and courage. I find myself utterly floored and left speechless. 

With you I see my negative, habitual notions being chipped away at and a more joyful & mature way of being emerge. You make me better. 

With you I see this moment as endless as if we’ve never been apart. With you I see all of our moments both in this physical reality and beyond. 

With you I’m in amazement that a connection like ours exists. Knowing you has felt like a Divine intervention 

With you I can rest in the knowledge that you too understand that our only purpose in life is to move towards a richer connection, awareness and love 

With you I have a deep understanding that the more I connect with my soul the more I connect with you and the more I connect with your soul the more I connect with myself

With you nothing else matters. I get lost in you but the further I get lost the closer to myself I get and even closer to a reality I wanna manifest. 

My love, Albi, you mean the world to me. Today and everyday I wish you all the joy and grace this life has to offer. Ana bahibbak ٲنَا بحِبَّك

Happy Birthday my love 💗 

Grieving

If you’ve ever lost someone you love: 

Grieving happens very much alone. I say I’m okay and yeah most of the time I am, I guess. I’m at peace with the way he passed and how it all went down the last few months. But...but there are moments when I’m very much alone when I see his empty office chair in the evening or I don’t hear his online poker game or a classic Bollywood film blaring on his laptop, that it hits me all over again like a fucking boulder. He’s gone to a place I have no access to. He left everything behind and poof like magic he quietly slipped away when no one was aware. I talk to him like he’s still here. I say good morning and goodnight and I swear I can still hear his ‘goodnight beta’ every time I shut my bedroom door. Life goes on, it keeps moving and I’m scared of the ‘getting back to normal.’ I hate that word, I mean what’s normal?! A part of me died when he did and it had to. So I grieve not only my father but that part of me that is no longer his baby daughter. I’m finally realizing at a deeper level what it means to accept life, allow life, knowing that life just is. So I have hope. Hope that in all this pain I’m able to see and feel the beauty of it all. 

Enough Already

Feb. 17, 2020

I got some good news today. First thoughts ‘Pop will love to hear about this!’ He would have. 

I break...again. 

Enough already Pop just come back!! 

You can’t be gone. We can’t just live without you. You ARE our life. You always have been. Mom needs you. You’ve been her reason...how could you just leave? 

I hear myself. I hear my words and I know it’s so selfish, childish...ridiculous. But I can’t help being angry. I don’t even know who or what I’m angry at. I wanna scream at the universe. I wanna understand more. I wanna know where he is, who he is, what he is...what this life is! But I’m too angry right now. I’m just sad and pissed. And I will be until...I’m not. 

Reality Is Shit

Jan. 29, 2021

Geet and mom are gone to funeral home to do the payment and work out the business about the ashes. I’m alone at home. I hate the quiet.

I think...now what?

Jan. 30, 2021

The mornings are still hard. I slowly come to it and before I can even pull myself out of bed  it hits me like a boulder. Damn it, it's not a nightmare. Reality is shit. 

Feb. 2, 2021

I have no idea what i'm doing anymore. My purpose is gone. I waste my days. I do one chore and make it last so long just so I can fill the time. I can do so much with the time I have but I don't feel like doing anything. 

Feb. 5, 2021

It's a hard day today. Strangely enough I hear from Geet and it's a tough for her too. She uses the word unreal. It is. It happened too fast. Still feels like I'm going to see him walking down at about 10:30am to grab his glasses and go to the bathroom and say good morning to me whilst I'm in the kitchen baking something. And then I swear he's sitting up in his office chair watching CNN and the latest Covid news. 

I get that his body is gone. I get that the body just stopped cause it was too sick but where did HE go? Sure his brain stopped but did HE stop too? Every fibre of my being tells me HE didn't die. He's in another realm. He's part of reality still. I just wish he was part of my reality still. 

Feb. 6, 2021 8:28am

Pop yes i'm sad but it's okay cause I know you're here, you're there (in a picture of you and Ariya on the calendar), you're there (by the kettle making chai), you're....everywhere. And then it hits me that this is more true than I know it to be. My heart swells and I never knew I had so much love for you. I'm just sorry I never told you or showed you more often. I wish you knew. I hope you know now. 

Feb. 9th 

I wake up but I don’t really care to. I wake up cause of mom. She’s my purpose now. 

Feb. 11th

It’s going back to normal and I don’t want it to. I don’t wanna be normal. I’m not fucking normal. Nothing about this feels normal. Yet I brush my teeth, take a shower, clean the house, watch movies with my mom. It’s all so normal like it used to be but there’s a huge hole- A hole in the fabric of my life and that tear is susceptible to the slightest tug that I’m afraid at any moment I may just unravel. Yet I brush my teeth, put on my PJs, turn out the lights, say goodnight to Papa and close my teary eyes. 

The last coherent thing he said to me that I will never forget is- when he asked for a cigarette, the morning of, I had my usual eye-roll complaint telling him he needs to 'get the hint and quit smoking.' (even though I knew it wouldn't make a difference now) He stops me and says ‘ I love you beta but don’t do this right now.’ I huff and say fine and bring him his last cigarette.

He's Gone

Jan.23 aprx. 5am

He’s gone. He’s pale. He’s cold. All that is left is a body. The life that he is, is alive.

6:35am What matters now....I’m not sure. I sit here in my meditation room and I’m crying. It seems so foolish

7:42am I walk over to see his lifeless body and yes it’s jarring - it’s turned almost all white. So pale. I look away quickly and walk towards the kitchen and I pause. I look back. I swear I just heard him take a breath. But there is no movement of his chest. That up and down and the moans that let me know he’s still kicking. The silence is so fucking quiet.

It happened in a wink. Literally. Mummie, on the couch next to Papa's bed, goes upstairs at approximately 3:30am. I hear her go and then Papa's breathing must have gotten quiet cause I zonk out. Anudidi, who's upstairs, wakes up in a jolt, rushes down to check on Papa at 3:50am. She's relieved he's breathing. She goes back up and can hear Mommie fumbling away. Mommie climbs down the stairs at about 3:57am telling me I can go to my room, now that she’s down for good. As soon as she says my name, I shoot up and shout ‘he’s not breathing!’ It's 4:00am.

We check for a pulse and don’t find one. I look at the digital clock placed awkwardly on the fireplace mantel- one of Papa's demands. It reads 4:02am. The air leaves my body and my breathing becomes shallow. I go into robotic mode. I call the palliative doctor, ask him what we do, I think I just caught a few of his words the main one being be was going to come by at 7am with a death certificate. I barely take in my mom but she's almost as pale as Papa. At some point she goes upstairs to wake up Anudidi who then comes running down. Then the noise began before I just got real quiet and shut the world out.

And then I went into a meditation. And then I feel. I get a knowing. He’s flying, he’s understanding, he sees. Moments pass, my sister and mom discuss what has just happened and I go deeper. He’s there, here. Geeta comes rushing in and the Hindu mantras my mom has playing off YouTube stops as she falls into him. He did that! He shut the music. ‘She doesn’t need the music’ he says. I hear her sobs. I feel her embrace Anudidi and they cry and then she’s beside me rubbing my back and with my eyes close I acknowledge her. I’m understanding more and more the lack of a need to speak.

I stay quiet.

The Next Few Hours

It's a blur now. Sumit came, Paji and Pabiji came, the palliative doctor came to give the death certificate. Anudidi calls the funeral home and they arrange to pick up the body. I showered at some point. Sacha comes. I try to sleep, I can't. I breakdown and fall into Geetadidi. I try to sleep again, I can't.

8:15am- I tear off the scotch tape from the drinking glasses that held the syringes that I inserted into his subcutaneous line. Used them basically just that last afternoon. I want so badly want to inject him with medicine cause that means there’s hope he will be around tomorrow. Maybe today is just a bad day I tell myself but I know. We all know. We all knew. It was approaching fast. The end was so near.

Last night as I lay on the worn out foam mattress on the floor by the foot of his bed, tears stream down my face as I hear him struggling to breathe, the gurgling in his throat. And I tell him ‘it’s okay to leave. I let you go. We let you go.’ And I knew...I fucking knew he was gonna go so why am I so sad he’s gone? I knew. I knew

8:23am - Memories flood my mind. My papa....

8:24am - Geet texts me to say funeral home is here to take body. I rush upstairs. Tears stain my face. They wait by the door to give us, the family, a moment before they come in to take the body. Anu kisses his forehead, hugs him and pulls back exclaiming ‘I heard him breathe.’ I have no reaction. Geet explains that happens. My mom says she thought so too earlier. We get quiet and we’re as ready as one can be. It’s procedural. They wear black coats, it’s a cold winters day in ottawa today. Masks covering half of their faces. Dead or not we’re still in a pandemic. They explain what they are doing whilst they wrap up the body and transfer it from the comfortable hospital bed he’s been laying in the last few weeks to a cold hard stretcher. My mom has a last minute panic and asks me if someone checked to see if really there is no pulse and he is in fact dead. I don’t know what to say to her. I take a breath and tell her there is no pulse trying to remind her that her and I both checked hours ago. Anu doubts for a second as well but after a little bit of back and forth with the funeral folks, my mom and sister are ready to accept again. I just hope for their sakes they don’t doubt again. And then they roll him out slowly. Past the large family photo in the hallway, out the front door into the frigid cold. Papa hates the cold. And into the back of their black van. I turn around and speed up the stairs to the bathroom, roll open the window and watch the van pull away from the house. Papa pulls out for the last time. I say bye and then I just fall.

9am- in my meditation room I let the tears fall. I’m so tired haven’t slept all night except for that damn 10 minutes when my life changed. When I lost him. I put my head down and the memory of sleeping by his bed comes rushing in and I quickly sit up. Will I ever be able to lie down again without listening for his breath?

Then the questions flood in: how could I have fallen asleep?! When did his breathing become quiet? How long was I fucking asleep?! Did I do enough? Did I do right by him?

9:33am - My stomach is grumbling. I need to poo, eat and sleep. Not sure sleep is gonna happen.

9:40am- I feel not done. I need to take care of him still. Need to brush his teeth, feed him soup, help the PSW (personal support worker) change and wash him, make sure I have the schedule for the nurses and PSW’s visits...I need to do...to move, to keep busy. The stillness is killing me.

5:57pm - I'm pooping again. It’s my 5th time today? People came, people went. Food came, food came and food came - it’s what Indians do. Food is comfort, care, love. Anudidi and I hide away upstairs and polish off the obituary for the funeral webpage. We eat. We talk. We share old photos. We laugh. Anudidi and Paji go to the funeral home to figure out all the logistics for Monday- the day of the funeral. We drink tea, hot fennel water to help our tummies. Mom complains about being constipated to everyone. Geet and I find this funny. We’re all exhausted, feel icky and yet there’s more...more discussions of what’s gonna go down the next few days. I’ll be going to do the final washing of papa’s body with my Paji tomorrow- I’m grateful he knows the drill just having done this for his own father. I (I found out later he hadn’t) He asks me on his way out if I’ll be okay tomorrow and I nod yeah, as if ‘I got this.’ But I’ve got nothing. My emotions are so unpredictable I’m a stranger to myself. All I can do is my best - something my Dad used to say.

Jan.24th

12:23am - I wake up to go to the bathroom. It’s a nightmare. It’s not true. I don’t want it to be true. I wanna wake up to a world where you exist. I want to wake up and have a healthy papa.

Jan. 25 - funeral day

8:05am - What if I just talked to you pop like you’re here, right here. Good morning. I’m charging your phone just in case. Mom's gonna need you today so show up for her okay?

8:30am - Just go through the motions - brush your teeth, wash your face, put on your black clothes. Tie your hair back, grab your black shawl and slip on your black boots and black winter jacket. So much black outside and in.

Jan. 27 - 3am

I lie down and think of papa. Do I really want him back? I don’t want the sick papa back cause he was suffering in this diseased body; do I want the past back when he was healthy? No because the past is gone and I have good memories; do I want him in my future just so I have him around when I know full well that he was getting tired of his life as it was.

Without thinking of ME, I don’t want him back. I know what happened was for the best for his best and just for the best.

Jan. 28, 2021

6:39pm - I watched the video of the ‘interview’ we did of papa and whichever way I look at it, I can’t help but feel grateful he died when he did. He was confined to a bed almost paralyzed from the shoulders down. He couldn’t perform basic health regimens for himself. And I knew he didn’t want that. He ate parsad and a little bit fell on his gown and he couldn’t look down to find the piece of food that had fallen. He relied on us for everything and he hated it. He was a man of principle and pride and I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him to surrender to the idea of having his daughter help the PSW change his diaper. Mom found it humiliating and she said it was hard for to watch. So I’m glad...I’m glad he didn’t have to live a life he didn’t want to. He lived his life exactly how he wanted. He didn’t compromise. And so at the end he basically said peace out ✌️ This isn’t living. And I respect his decision to leave. I respect the soul’s decision to leave that diseased body. Good for you pop. I’m proud of you. You lived a good life . You did good. I love you. See you next time.

It's Real

Sometime in early December, 2020

He got worse quickly. We had no idea what was going on as he became weaker and weaker. 

Why'd it stop and where'd it go? He was that for me these past few years. Whilst he withered away unbeknownst to all, he was my background sound that was just always there. Never paid it too much attention until it got really quiet and by then it was almost too late.  

Dec. 30, 2020

Now I wonder, what now? I want to walk outside of my bedroom door look to the left and see him in his black office chair. I wanna say good morning Pop. He'd ask me, whilst sipping his cup of chai, 'are you going anywhere today?' and I'd say yes or no and it didn't matter, or so we thought. But maybe I mattered to him like he mattered to me- he was there, I was there, and if he wasn't, if I wasn't, I'd be back... he'd be back.     

Jan. 2, 2021

As I watch my Dad fade away, I see my mom fade into him. I don't know what's more devastating - watching him slowly die, my foundation of life deteriorate, or seeing my Mom's bubbly, joyful nature slide away. I want nothing more to call '92 back when we were a family of six, vibrant, busy, enjoying each others company. What I would do with a moment from those years. 

Now I hold onto each minute like it may be the last. Because one will be.  

Jan. 3, 2021

What matters...the slow rise and fall of his chest, his eyes meeting mine when I call him Papa, his heavy breathing, wiping the water from the sides of his eyes, putting the straw gently in his mouth when he needs a sip, feeding him a banana, feeding him anything, massaging his feet, hands, arms, telling him to feel his body and talk to the cancer. 

What matters now are his wishes, his desires, the life he is, the one life we all are...it's ALL that ever really matters. 

Sometime in December I think...

In the end...no not just ‘in the end’...but always, as long as...eternity, it’s been about you and your soul, you and God, you and your higher self. In the beginning, in the end and in between the only relationship that has ever matter was the one you had with yourself...the one self.

January 13th, 2021

Its 5:14am. I sit on the recliner-chair in my dad’s room in the palliative care unit at the Ottawa hospital. His snoring is louder than the vent blowing warm air into the room. I grew up with this snoring. When we were younger my sisters and I joked that it seemed like my Mom and Pop were in a snoring competition at night. One trying to out do the other as we couldn’t help but hear from outside their bedroom doors. And now...now I listen carefully to each inhale and exhale like I’m on a little journey with him. It’s strange how the proximity of death can do that. It can make you crave to hear another loud snore. Something you thought you’d never miss. And you pray...just one more, one more, another, just one more please...please keep them coming God. Please.

January 18, 2020

Things I say to myself: there’s always a reason to smile

• Breathe in each moment (it may be his last)

• Be here. Be fully here

• Right now THIS is my purpose- HE is my purpose

Papa Has Cancer?

December 22, 2020

When I find out my Dad has stage 4 cancer it's sometime in the morning

We get a call at 5am from a doctor at Montfort hospital on the 21st telling us they found something in Papa's blood work that requires them to do further testing. 'Bring him in immediately.' We know it's not good. Anudidi and Paji (my Dad's 'adopted' son) take Papa to the emergency.  They weren't allowed to stay with him - Covid rules. We're in the dark for the whole day and it's not until the next morning when I call papa's cell to see if he's awake that we find out. 

He picks up the phone after the first ring and I'm happy to hear his voice. I ask how he's feeling and what tests have been done and what not. I've got him on speaker so my mom, who's sitting next to me, can hear as well. There's a knock on my Dad's hospital room door. It's his doctor, Dr. Ayuen. 

"Hi there, I've got some bad news." She says, as if she's a store clerk telling a customer they'll be out of toilet paper until next week. 

The first blow sinks my heart a little. My mom goes still. Pop is mute. Ayuen sees he's on the phone and asks if he wants to discuss the results with 'your daughter' on the line. He says sure-he wants her to get to the point. Mommie and I are bracing. 

'So you have stage 4 cancer.' Boom. Just in one small sentence our lives are changed forever. Mom lets out a sound- I think it's almost a moan. I try not to cry and do my best to take notes as she lists all the places the cancer has spread. 'the cancer has metastasized into your spline, shoulders, hip...she's talking so fast I'm trying to keep up. I need to write it all down cause I have to tell my sisters. They're gonna wanna know details. After she's done her spiel she slows down to explain 'next steps'. Shit, she said Palliative. I know what this means. I've been an actor for CHEO who's new born is hanging on by a thread and the doctors suggest palliative care. Basically this means making the person comfortable until they die because trying to keep them alive will ultimately do more damage and cause more pain. Ayuen is trying to tell him he's dying fast and there's nothing they can do to stop it. I don't wanna hear it. 

The next call I make is to my sisters. I break down when I say 'It's stage 4 cancer guys.' But I pull myself together quickly cause there's so much more info to tell. One of them says, I knew it. I had a bad feeling. I think one of them is crying. My mom sitting next to me is hurting so bad- I can feel her. She's in disbelief. We're not ready.

December 22, Later that day...

It's so strange you know...because I knew this day was coming sooner rather than later. For the past 3 years I had been telling mom 'brace yourself cause I don't think Papa is gonna live another 5-10 years.' He was getting weaker, shakier, smaller. My sister's and I rounded it up to his drinking and smoking habits and lack of exercise. My dad's been smoking since he was a teenager and drinking religiously every night for about the last 40 years. It added up we thought. I soooo believed it was his drinking and smoking. I would berate him almost daily for the waft of nicotine that would fill the house even when he tucked himself in by his office fireplace to smoke - I made this mandatory in the last year. I had had enough...apparently so had his body. 

I was angry after his first fall in the summer. I thought he had had just too many whiskey's that night, slipped and couldn't garner enough strength to pull himself up. My mom was scared, I was pissed. I got him on the treadmill the next day telling him he had to start exercising and build some muscles. He always had twigs for legs. He listened for a while. It was hard to push him every single day, I thought he was just lazy. Maybe he was or maybe he didn't wanna face reality. He had made himself weak. 

October 26, 2020

I think it was about midnight when I hear coughing coming from the hallway. Maybe it's my mom, maybe she's sick. I open the door to my bedroom and I know it's coming from downstairs. I get a pit in my stomach and I know it's my Dad. I fly down the main staircase and see him rag-doll like on the floor vomiting. I fear the worst. I see if his head's split open and check for blood- nothing. A small sigh of relief. His blue whiskey glass is on the floor unbroken. He's been drinking. I know I have to act fast so I pull him up to a sitting position leaning him against the bottom step of his office stairs. He can't hold himself up. He looks confused and in pain. His legs are folded under him and he doesn't have the strength to straighten them. They're locked in place. I hold his torso up with one hand while I try and pull his legs from under him. It's hard. I'm now sweating. He can't hold himself up, he's leaning. I mop up the vomit. I think I get him some water. He mumbles for a tissue. Then I ask if he can move his legs. He can't. I don't know how to get him upstairs to bed. I ask if he can slide over to the main staircase. I'm thinking, 'maybe I can get him to crawl up.' I pull him over - almost like dead weight- and he manages to crawl up one step but it's not looking good. He has no strength to pull him self up, his torso is now collapsing. Abort mission Puja! He's gotta sleep down here, 'papa i can't get you up'. I tell him I'm bringing a foam mattress and he can sleep on that for tonight. It's another major task just to slide him down the last step to the floor and onto the mattress. He's helpless - I don't know why. Can he be THIS drunk?! I straighten his legs and arms once he's flopped onto the mattress and he looks uncomfortable. 'Papa do you want me to fix your arm?' His face is almost entirely smooched into the pillow so it's hard to hear him say no. I tuck him in, set a glass of water next to him along with some plastic bags incase he vomits again. He seems to hear me but I can't be sure. He just responds with a mumble. I step back, take him in, and wonder if I should do more. Should I call 911? My mom is asleep in her room this entire time. I don't want to disturb her.  

I should have disturbed her! Maybe if I did she would have freaked out even more than I and called 911. He needed a hospital, he needed medical attention and he needed more than a quick judgement from his daughter who assumed 'fuck man, Papa drank too much and has fallen'. I'm angry, scared and sad as I walk back up to my room thinking 'shit he's gonna kill himself.' I just didn't know he was already dying. 

October 27, '20

I woke up the next day completely fuming. Something drastic needed to happen to get my Dad to quit drinking and change his lifestyle. I tell my sisters what happened and we decide to hold an 'intervention'. In the meantime I call our family doctor (One of Papa's closest friends, Ranbir Bhatia) and tell him about the two falls he's had, one in the summer and one last night. He says something has to be done asap. He wants to see my dad for a checkup. At some point in the early morning Papa had made it upstairs. He sleeps in till noon. He's humiliated - I can feel it. I see him, like I always do, from outside my bedroom across the banister, sitting in his office chair. 'Papa things are going to change now.' He timidly looks up and says 'yes I know.' 

Side thoughts in November 2020

He didn't participate anymore (now I know why) and I got used to just me & mom, but he was always there. 'Hi Pop' when I walked in the house, 'bye Pop' when I left and 'goodnight Pop' as I shut my bedroom door. And when I didn't see him sitting in his office chair or watching an Indian show before lunch or knowing he was showering I'd ask mom 'where's pop', she'd say 'he's gone to the bank' and...Nothing... it didn't matter, or at least I didn't think it matter.  But it did. He was there. He was coming back. He was gonna be here...just in case.