The surgeon told me that his team had done their best and it was not working out as he had planned. He said, ‘There is always the one or two percentage of failure in any major operation like this and this time, we regret that your mother happens to be that one percent. We can see from your constant presence in the ward that you and family are vary committed and devoted to your mother. But we have to face the grim situation now. There is nothing more we can do for your mother’.
On hearing that, my mental and physical connection with my mother began suddenly to collapse. I was not quit ready to accept the reality. In the pass few weeks our family had an optimistic view that our mother would recover and that she would live for a few more years without the fear and pain of a heart attack. I never quite imagined, in the last 58 years of my life, sharing a house with my mother, that her life would end in such a hasty and unexpected way. How did I imagine her life would end? Well, not like it did. But, why not as it did? Who could be the judge, on how one ought to die?
That afternoon, from about 3pm to about 7pm, my mother’s heart beat and blood pressure began a slow dive from a normal reading to that of a zero. With my right hand, I held both her hands that were resting on her chest, and with my left hand, I stroked her forehead and hair, for as long as I could. During those few hours, everything on earth that I have known seemed to me, to have lost their meaning. Nothing could express my sorrow and loss. There was only inconsolable grief that comes in waves; that also weakens my knees and blinds my eyes.