I dug into the tandoori chicken we took away from one of Ryan’s favourite restaurants late night.
Daughter: How is it?
Me: I don’t know why it’s not satisfying. Is it the food today, or is it me?
Daughter: But aren’t you hungry?
Me: Not really. I have some stuff to do and thought this might keep me going. I think the problem is me. I just don’t feel like celebrating… celebrating Daddy’s birthday. I’m forcing it. Until last night, I didn’t feel like it. But then I thought: we celebrate Christmas even though Christ died. Let’s see how I feel in the morning. And you’re feeling better from the flu too.
She nodded in silent understanding.
I didn’t have the heart to look at last year’s birthday pictures of Ryan. It was just the two of us, intimate, and we were both so, so, so happy. Looking back at those happy memories would only make the loss feel even more painful, and I don’t know how much pain I can endure at this point.
We offered Mass, visited his grave, and went to one of Ryan’s favourite restaurants to order his all-time favourite chicken dish: their butter chicken. We ordered some of our favourites too. But somehow it didn’t taste the same without him.
I remembered the very first birthday gift I got for him: an Armani perfume, and how thrilled he was. He still loved his Old Spice more, though.
It’s on occasions like this that you feel a part of your body and soul is missing. The loss is staring you in the face… in the void.
People talk about empty chairs when they tell you to treat your parents well while they’re alive. Little do you imagine the empty chair might be your spouse’s first.
Acceptance of God’s will, and faith in Him, don’t make the pain less. They don’t stop the tears. I fought them as I dabbed warm pink eyeshadow on my lids, compact over the dark circles, lipstick and gloss, and brushed my hair. I checked the mirror for puffiness and redness.
It was time to show up for the Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations in the apartments and socialise with the neighbours. I wore a white chikankari kurta with a rani-pink salwar and a rani-pink and gold Banarasi dupatta, and big oval brass hoops. There were compliments. We laughed. Yet my heart was aching… Only the Lord knows I would have traded all of it for Ryan.
We were so happy and content together. Why did this ever have to happen? …. Never mind! Some questions are best not asked or explored … there’s no point when the answers will be elusive…
In the interim I drafted the long-overdue gratitude note to Ryan’s friends and well-wishers. I felt he wouldn’t have wanted me to wait any longer as he was so particular about time.
Life moves on, even while the heart is stuck.
(PS: The cover image is the first photograph I clicked of Ryan. It was a spontaneous moment, and I loved how coolly, effortlessly, and graciously he posed for me.)
