July: Month of Despair

Morom-or-Dewta,

3:51 a.m.

The time when I find myself sitting, before my laptop, to open the cage and let my heart soar into the dark night of my life. My soul is restless and so, I shall let it run wild too for it deserves to calm down and rest a smidge as well.

Ki khobor, Dewta? (How are you, Dad?)

I wish I had asked you this question more often than not. I wish so many things, especially to have you with us, with me. I also wish I had known about the curse that our family carries; the curse that snatched you away from me. Times are tough, Dewta; especially after your departure. I don't know if I believe in a place after death (Yes, I know I follow your steps perfectly!) but if there is and if you're there, I can only assume that you're watching over what's happening, watching over us. Ever since we have lost you, July month has been really rough.

July 3rd.

I wish my spirit could crawl out of my body, just like my mind usually makes me want to do so out of my skin, to the year 1998. To the third of July when you first held me in your arms. However, not once do I doubt the love you harbored for me in your beating heart! My mom still tells me how happy you were when I was born. Birthdays aren’t supposed to make us feel unloved or unworthy, but I always did feel that. And after you were gone, the true essence of my birthday also withered away completely. I could no longer turn to you and feed you a morsel of unbelievably sweet cake and see you pause and act as if you’re biting into the soft cake because my mom was taking blurry photos or photos that featured her fingers more than our faces. Far gone are the days when you sang the “happy birthday” song to me with my mom.

Now, I avoid looking at your picture even when my mom would be calling me towards your framed photo where my mom is sharing a small piece of cake with you.

Now, I avoid you.

July 5th.

Every time this date arrives, the part of me that’s already dead shrivels up and dies some more. I know you’re gone, Dewta, but who you’ve left behind is barely a shell of a person. The melancholic smiles that my mom plasters on her face every time this day is mentioned; the way she keeps herself busy and I am guessing distracted by cleaning the house like Monica from goddamn Friends; the way she tries to hide her tears away, and the way she keeps telling me how much she wants to go to where you are simply leaves me speechless, with a heart that doesn’t know how to function anymore. The arrows that go straight to my soul whenever she listens to songs that portray the agony, she’s in just tears me down. Why did you have to leave her all alone, Dewta? She misses you, every single day, with every beat of her heart.

Just like it was too soon for you, it was too soon for her as well.

July 19th.

The day your wife, my mom and our angel, was born. At midnight tonight, when gifts were given to my mom, I saw her breaking through the walls of courage, tears leaking through the cracks, cracks that can never be repaired. Tonight, she cried for the kiss she always received from her mother and the presence she felt from her husband.

There are two types of dying: - One, where someone dies of a terminal disease. And another, where someone dies every second of every day for their reason of living has been brutally taken away from them. The month of July was and is supposed to be a month of celebrations but it became that of mourning and grief. Forever. Even when we celebrate these days, there is a cloud of sadness always hovering over us. I want you to know that the cloud of despair is not you, Dewta, but it’s your absence that leaves us unable to breathe. While my birthday on the third and your and mom’s anniversary on the fifth went by in a blink worrying and dying over grandma and how much pain she was in, could you maybe visit us next year? Even if not me, come and visit mom on her special days, please?

Tumar (Yours),

Mrigakhi.