Remembering the mother I've lost Part-II

Here's the part-I if you've missed it: Remembering the mother I've lost Part I

October 2013

It was a long day, running around the hospital and managing home and relatives. So when Prateek called us up at around 2 on Monday morning neither me nor my husband Prashant woke up. It took us an embarrassing nine missed calls to shake us off our sleep.

"Hello?" I answered the phone, still half awake.

"Have you guys put your phone on silent mode. Why did it take so long?"

"Errr.. Sorry, we were fast asleep," I replied apologetically.

"Hmmm, can you give to bhai please?" I handed over the phone to Prashant who sat tight on the bed, alert.

In half a minute, the conversation ended and I knew he had bad news to share -- Mummy’s blood pressure was sinking despite the medicines and the intensive care while doctors were losing hope. 

I had some meetings that day at work which I promptly cancelled. My father-in-law was the last to be informed. Tuesday passed in waiting.

Come Wednesday, guests started pouring in and phones never stopped ringing. There were many, many people -- some I had never even heard about -- who were really concerned and anxious about mummy.
During the times that we live, we seldom realise that our close friends and relatives can be our greatest strengths of pillar during tough times like these. Having them by your side can be a source of immense support. Unfortunately, when we live we worship our egos and love takes a back seat.

Wednesday was even terrible. 

We figured she only had a few hours left. Unfortunately, she hadn't opened her eyes in the last ten days that she was in the ICU. In her last waking state, she was hopeful of returning home, she wanted to bake a cake for us, celebrate Diwali and see my brother-in-law Prateek settle down. I shudder to think what would have happened if she was conscious and saw her life peeling off her body every single minute. Was she lucky to have been spared the horror?

She was on life support. Doctors said the advanced medical systems these days meant patients survived longer than they otherwise would or in their own words they delay deaths. Had mummy recovered then she would have been nothing but a bag of bones, battling an even harder life with regular trips to the hospital, doctors suggested towards the fag end of her journey. One question on our minds then was how long can she be on life support anyway? Unfortunately for us, when her liver started degenerating the doctors lost all hopes. That is one organ that cannot be put on any life support systems.

In those last few hours on Wednesday afternoon, we took turns to stand beside her bed, holding her swollen hands or kissing her yellow-ish forehead while urging her to depart. Mantras were played on soft volume for her ears while the hospital administration had lifted the restrictions on the number of visitors. While we waited for the bad news, we were also praying for a miracle which never happened.

While in Kerala, just a fortnight before her tryst with death began, mummy and I entered this massive gold souk in one of the malls in Kochi while the men ate their hearts out. Mummy walked in hesitatingly. The shop had an amazing collection of both ethnic and modern jewellery. From the look of it, I thought mummy may finally get what she’d been looking for. 

 "But, we don't want to buy anything," she said, stepping back. 

"Dekhne ka paisa thode hi hain, chaliye” I almost pulled her by the arm. (meaning: it doesn’t cost to just look around, come on in)

We had barely stepped into the store when a battery of salesmen pounced upon us to ask what we needed.
Mummy had always craved for an elegant diamond necklace that she would wear when Prateek would marry. So, that was asked to be shown. The over-zealous salesmen put up a great display before the two brothers chased us out of the store!

Unfortunately, she left the world with that desire in her heart – to wear a diamond necklace for her son’s wedding. When I think about it I feel we plan so much for life, sometimes make compromises for future comforts. We make decisions or avoid them worrying about what’s lying ahead, we ignore our loved ones because we are too busy securing our future. And, then one fine day life plays a cruel joke on us.

Around 7 p.m. on that fateful Wednesday when the visiting hours at the hospital came to a close, mummy's younger sister told me about things we'd do when we get back home that night. I was certainly not going back home. Somehow I felt that Prashant and Prateek would need me if the news broke at odd hours. I put my foot down, and earned a concession -- I could stay at Prashant's aunt's place which was just round the corner.

That night we couldn't sleep. Around 2 am we got a call that mummy had passed away. This was inevitable, and I thought I was prepared for it. Still, when I heard the news a chill ran down my spine. I was shivering.

The journey to the hospital was never this long. At the same time, I wanted to escape in another direction. I couldn't believe that mummy, she who always saw her entire world in her fist and whose life revolved only around her two sons, has decided to leave everything for good.

Once at the hospital I saw that sunshine yellow body again. Tears rolled down my cheeks. We said our prayers and walked out of the chamber.

The ‘Gita’ says that the soul lives forever while the body- all bones and skin- is rented. When the rent agreement expires, the soul leaves the body. No negotiations. 

A final look at mummy on that same wheel bed... This time the monitors were not beeping. Like her, they too were put to rest. There were no intravenous pipes piercing her skin, instead cotton buds were shoved into her nose. She was at peace, but we?