Things happen for a reason

Geetanjali Gayatri

He lay with his eyes closed and head propped up against the headrest. That’s how he always loved to sleep. That is how I found him when I entered his room that morning. Only it was a deeper slumber from which no one ever wakes up. I stood by his bedside calling out to him softly, hoping he will open his eyes while knowing he won’t.

He was gone. And, in those most sorrowful moments, I knew the fortnight before his passing had been a miracle. I had been touched by magic. There was a God up there scripting our days.

November had begun, as usual, with my birthday. And I had hopped, skipped and jumped into another year. Too much jumping around has a flip side as you age, and one evening, I twisted my foot while walking my dog.

I took leave from work, popped in painkillers as everybody fussed over me. The smallest scratch, even a cough, was enough to have my dad arrive at my doorstep loaded with goodies to make me feel better, and this time was no exception.

However, the bruise only grew bigger and my doctor suggested an X-ray, suspecting a fracture. Indeed it was and I was recommended bed rest. But being a restless soul, I need to be up and about. So, I cursed that moment when I hurt myself as I tried to hop through my days.

In a couple of days, I made a ritual out of meeting my dad for lunch or having him over to take me for a drive, making the most of the ‘break’. Life quickly fell into this fun pattern till dad developed a slight fever.

Being on leave allowed me the luxury of spending my entire day at his place. This was three days before I was to join back at work after the mandatory ‘rest’. Each morning, I would drive down to his place, sit chit-chatting in the sun, push him to eat something and even cook for him.

That last evening when I came away, I was divided between staying back and going home. I made some soup for him, and left only after he assured me he was well and better.

At midnight, I called him up to remind it was medicine time and his chirpy voice came as a relief.

Early next morning, as I raced down to his place hearing a frail voice at the other end of the phone, his last words to me were, ‘I am not feeling too well. You come.’

I never heard his voice again.

The loss lives inside my bones and surfaces unexpectedly, though there is never a day I don’t think of him.

The fracture I cursed so much was the biggest blessing of that year. It allowed me to spend his last days with him.

That is why I believe in magic. Because God is making patterns we know nothing about and creating miracles out of ordinary moments. Loss has taught me to go with the flow and simply believe.

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