Grief, without loss, is like having the ghost of your loved one around, but it’s not haunting. It’s heartbreaking.
My mom, Amma, as I call her fondly, had a severe stroke on June 9, 2024, in Bangalore, India. At the time, we weren’t sure how severe it was. The doctors said she might either go into a coma, survive, or pass away.
Without getting into the medical details, she survived with weakness on the right side of her body, difficulty swallowing, and global aphasia. It’s been a year and a half, and she’s doing better compared to the beginning. However, she still cannot communicate and remains largely dependent.
Now we’re in this limbo, hoping she’ll get better, but seeing no motivation from her end. And who can blame her? A once independent woman, who never asked for any help, now gets irritated if someone helps her eat.
But today, I am here to talk about the limbo. A limbo where my dad, Appa, my sister, Akka, and I are stuck. While we have accepted the situation and how she is, we know we will love her and take care of her no matter what. Because she deserves it.
But how do you answer the external world when someone asks you, “How are your parents doing?” and you say…”They’re fine.” But you know they are not. They are fine on the surface. But there are so many layers. Appa, who loves his wife dearly, has dedicated his whole time to taking care of Amma. And don’t get me wrong, in marriage, this is the least one can do. But no one understands the severity of how Amma is doing. Some say, “Leave her with us and go have a day for yourself.”
Amma has no interest in being around anyone else except Appa. She is most comfortable with him in their home. She cannot be her full, vulnerable self with anyone else for a whole day. If she is away from him for more than 3 hours, she will start crying. How will you manage that?
We all know patience is key in Amma’s recovery, and for where she was to where she is now, she has done a phenomenal job. Even her doctors say so.
But just being alive and walking and eating and sleeping is not enough when we know who she was before. Appa misses her. Akka misses her. I miss her. Our lives felt put together because she loved us unconditionally. She listened to us when we vented. She bugged us to take care of our health. She called 10 times a day and sent 100 messages if I sounded off on a call, asking, “You ok?” “Are you angry at me?” – and while it was irritating in the moment, it was also somewhat comforting to know that someone out there was thinking of you.
It’s true what they say – you do not know the value of something or someone until it is/they are gone. I hate that it took us this huge stroke to recognize that. That doesn’t mean we didn’t value her – trust me, we did. We showered her with love, affection, calls, messages, time spent – everything. But for someone who loves as unconditionally as Amma, it just did not feel enough. She never made us feel that way. She always assured us she felt seen, loved, and appreciated. But again, it just does not feel enough.
Not a day goes by that I do not miss her. I miss her so, so much. I am sure Appa and Akka do. If you knew Amma, you would know what a gem of a person she is. Even in her current situation, while she cannot communicate and sometimes cries or looks upset, she also has her moments of giggling, laughing, joking, and poking fun at us. She still asks, in her aphasia-code, how we are doing. And even looks concerned if we cough or sniffle. She blows kisses on the phone when I call, keeps her hand affectionately on Appa when we talk, and continues to worry about us in her state.
For someone so selfless to go through what she is right now, suffering for no reason. From battling breast cancer to now this. It is so unfair. So undeserving to both her and Appa, who loves her and misses her so dearly.
I feel like our family has been in survival mode since this has happened. I asked ChatGPT why I don’t romanticize life anymore. Why I feel demotivated. And the answer AI gave me, which made me emotional (what irony), is
“You’ve been in survival mode, not growth mode,” and this is exactly it.
There are 5 stages of grief, and they can be gone through if the person is gone. But in this situation, I don’t even know what stage we are in. How can we move on when we sometimes just feel so torn down? And sometimes have a glimmer of hope?
Grief, without loss, is like a limbo. Stuck in different stages, fluctuation through emotions, missing the person in front of you. It’s anger. It’s sadness. It’s happiness. It’s something we never wish upon anyone – no matter how cruel they are. Grief, without loss, is ambiguous.
I want to end this venting note by saying, Amma was and is a beautiful soul. She is what the world needed more of – blunt truths, unconditional love, a simple outlook on life with emotional and practical advice for every situation. I hate that she has to go through this. But destiny has decided this for her and for us. We accept it begrudgingly, while swaying in the limbo of emotions.
THE IDLE MIND 