At my age, you don’t lose loved ones everyday. So when something as drastic as losing your life partner happens, you live the horror everyday. Can you believe I’m not able to go back and visualize a single happy memory of G&I! I’ve been writing those posts about remembering him, but I cannot picture those instances in entirety. I get a glimpse here or there. Most of those are written by memory. I cannot picture them as I write. Some of the times when I see him alive, I see him grinning. But most of the visuals of G are those when he died.
Anytime I think of him I see him in the cold storage. Or how after he was brought home, he lay on the floor shrouded in a white cloth with blue plastic peeping from within. I don’t know why that blue plastic annoyed me so much. When I let an ambulance pass, I am transported back to that road where we were hurtling towards H and my last moments with him were coming to an end.
When I think of him, the days after his death come to my mind. I see myself weeping as I meet people after people after people. I see his picture on the wall – the one taken at my sister’s wedding. I see the lamp that was lit for him and the bowls of milk and water. I see his shoes and his blood soaked socks and how his Jockey’s were peeping out of his track pants. I see blood where his ponytail had just started tying.
I see all of it, yet I can’t see the happy moments. I have seen him walking beside me, walking towards me, but those haven’t been real images. The clothes I see him in, the stance, that’s not something that’s happened before. It’s not deja vu. It’s something new.
I see myself sitting alone, having conversations in my head. I see the nightmares, I see him in people on the road. I see the pictures of his crushed car and see him inside it. I can even visualize the scene when his cousin would have gone to the hospital to find him. I can picture it as if I was there. I can imagine how he would have laid on the bed. How his cousin would have shaken him and tried to get a response.
I see myself blabbering – I don’t know what – to people who came to meet me. I see myself in his cousin’s house, waiting for him to turn up, thinking it’s a horrible mistake. I see myself driving in the night, in an uncharacteristically quiet car. I see myself crying not to get inside the house because I wanted to go to the hospital. I see myself wanting to click that one last picture.
I didn’t want to say goodbye, I haven’t. He could’t have gone, couldn’t have left me. He told me he’ll be there. I knew he’ll be there. He has to be!
Can someone point him home?