Family Matters

Family Matters
13th March 2005

We lost Amma yesterday.

She’d been ailing for quite some time. A heart patient with angina problems, and a bad stomach. Ever since her stint in hospital last November, things had gotten worse. She’d gone into depression from the constant dieting, medication, doctors’ bills and, most importantly, the pain.

Last Tuesday she had severe pain in the night. So we called down Doc’s dad, our family doctor. Let’s call him Big Doc. He diagnosed it as hyperacidity, gave her some medicines, she was fine.

It started again Friday night. We gave her all the medication we could. Finally, at 3.30 in the morning, Big Doc came down, gave her an injection. The pain didn’t subside.

Amma refused to go to hospital. She told Big Doc that she wanted to die at home – this was on Tuesday – and that he should issue her death certificate. At 5 AM, Dad asked her, let’s go to the hospital. She said, let’s wait till 6. At precisely 6 AM, Dad yelled out for me. She’d collapsed in the bathroom. I found her in Dad’s arms, eyes open, staring at nowhere, struggling to breathe. She breathed her last in his arms, in front of me.

Big Doc said the hyperacidity triggered off a massive heart attack. There was nothing we could have done.

I think she knew her time was up. On Friday evening she’d gone to the club, was really happy and cheerful. However, she made a comment at one point – "Who knows if we’ll even be alive tomorrow." Something she repeated in the course of the night when Big Doc was at home. She even pointed out the time of her death – 6 AM.

We still can’t believe she’s gone. Dad and me expect her to walk in through the door at any time, berating us for our stupidity. She’s been our constant – nursing us kids through childhood, encouraging, blessing us all, and then helping Dad get back on his feet since December.

I can never forget the last words she told my Sis and me. She said (in Sindhi), "Let me go in peace now. My blessing will always be with you kids. Grow, prosper. My blessings are with you."

Those words echoed in my head when I touched her feet at the funeral. That’s when I started to lose it. Every time I think of that statement, I begin to weep.

Of course, Dad’s been hit the hardest. He was in a bad state all morning yesterday, but he’s been handling it better since then.

Before all this I’d planned to go to Kuala Lumpur to watch the F1 Grand Prix. I’d booked, paid up, everything. It seemed my plans were in jeopardy. But Amma was really happy that I was going on my own money, on my own feet, and that’s swayed my parents (as has the convincing by some family friends) to let me go. Our priest tells us that it’s ok, as long as I follow some instructions. It’ll be sad, but it’s what she’d have wanted too.

Last week, I finally had that long talk with my folks about things with Sweetie. They normally hear everything very quickly – but this time I’ve been reluctant to impose my problems on them. Now it’s out, and I’m feeling better about it. They’ve told me a lot of things, boosted my confidence. They didn’t like some things about her, and I think they’re relieved it’s over.

But back to Amma. Her last words to me got me thinking. She wanted – wants, from above somewhere – me to do well, to grow, to prosper, to be famous. She’s blessed me. There is no way I am going to let her down.

I’m going to use this trip as therapy. And I’m gonna come back and live up to her dreams – or at least, try.

The house still feels empty. I haven’t really vented my grief, and it’s hurting all the more. I wish I’d spent more time with her, taken her out more often, been a whole lot nicer and more patient. Now I can’t, and I’m gonna regret it the rest of my life. I now only have one grandmother left – Nani – and I hope I don’t repeat these mistakes.

We lost Amma yesterday. But she will live on in our hearts. For me, her words will be guidance. I hope she’s found the peace she never had here.

Goodbye, Amma. Rest in peace. We miss you already.