I did not want to write anything in the journal as that would dislodge the last entry. But perhaps its time to move on. Its going to be two months tomorrow. Living away from home for nearly two and half years now, I have become used to not having my parents with me all the time. I call up home atleast 3 times every single day….sometimes even more. Its always been like that…once I am back from school, college, office, theatre, party..I needed the steady audience of my mother (in case she was not in a bad mood). Since she did not have much to say…she giggled sincerely to all the jokes. Within 3-4 days of her death, both me and my father got used to her absence, which was surprising even to us. But we miss these conversations. Something happens and we are instinctively turning towards her room to rush and tell her about it and then hold ourselves back. I reached home late in the evening on that day as I was travelling from the other end of the country which was a blessing. I did not want to see her. I had her in my mind and thats how its always going to be. The hardest thing to miss is perhaps the “touch”..the hugs..the feel of “her”.
I hope this post did not seem morose..because thats not how its supposed to be. It was perhaps one of the most graceful byes I have ever seen and am glad things happened the way they did.