It’s hard to grieve the loss of someone you’ve never met. But there are some people you know you would have loved - simply because they come from, are a part of, people you love.
My 2 month old niece (my cousin V’s daughter) died yesterday morning, and I haven’t been able to reach him on the phone…well, of course, who’s going to bother with something as mundane as the phone at a horrible time like this? And even if I did get through to him, what on earth would I say? Everything is so inadequate, so inconsequential, so bloody futile… the words would just be ridiculous platitudes and would make no difference at all.
Growing up, my cousin V was an endless source of amusement and fascination for me…he’s 14 years older than I am, and, at the age of 5, when I first saw him sitting on my terrace early one morning in Madras, in all his mustachioed-dishevelled-engineering-student glory, I ran screaming back into the house with shrieks of “Mama, Dada, thief! Run!” Poor guy, I must have been the most annoying (and shrill) little tagalong cousin in history. But he gamely attempted to teach me my multiplication tables (using toothpicks, no less), and how to crack a walnut shell between a doorjamb and savour the nut (dusty though it was), and took me for my first bus ride (first memorable public transport experience, in fact), and my first time riding pillion on a bike (I’m pretty sure my eyes were squeezed shut the entire time)…and was, in general, the most patient cousin in existence. And the nicest, really.
So it sucks beyond measure that God would let such a crappy thing happen to such a great guy. No one should ever, ever have to lose a baby…and how much worse when you’ve had a chance to hold her, and love her, and name her, and change her poopy diapers.
I’m so, so sorry, Cousin V.
My 2 month old niece (my cousin V’s daughter) died yesterday morning, and I haven’t been able to reach him on the phone…well, of course, who’s going to bother with something as mundane as the phone at a horrible time like this? And even if I did get through to him, what on earth would I say? Everything is so inadequate, so inconsequential, so bloody futile… the words would just be ridiculous platitudes and would make no difference at all.
Growing up, my cousin V was an endless source of amusement and fascination for me…he’s 14 years older than I am, and, at the age of 5, when I first saw him sitting on my terrace early one morning in Madras, in all his mustachioed-dishevelled-engineering-student glory, I ran screaming back into the house with shrieks of “Mama, Dada, thief! Run!” Poor guy, I must have been the most annoying (and shrill) little tagalong cousin in history. But he gamely attempted to teach me my multiplication tables (using toothpicks, no less), and how to crack a walnut shell between a doorjamb and savour the nut (dusty though it was), and took me for my first bus ride (first memorable public transport experience, in fact), and my first time riding pillion on a bike (I’m pretty sure my eyes were squeezed shut the entire time)…and was, in general, the most patient cousin in existence. And the nicest, really.
So it sucks beyond measure that God would let such a crappy thing happen to such a great guy. No one should ever, ever have to lose a baby…and how much worse when you’ve had a chance to hold her, and love her, and name her, and change her poopy diapers.
I’m so, so sorry, Cousin V.
1 comment:
i am so sorry for your loss =(
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