Last year during summers, I lost one of the pillars of my life to Cancer, my grandfather. The loss felt as extreme disturbance, sharp pain and regret about not being there for him, not fulfilling my responsibilities.
I spent months feeling like a reason for this loss. The last few days of his life were painful, at least that's what I remember my parents telling me. He called out my name the night before he left, asking me to help him, I got to know. He wanted the pain to go away, a man who never asked for anything his whole life was crying for help. What still hurts is the thought that his pain was so unbearable that he gave up. He gave up his trust in himself, his family and me. I felt responsible for that. This image imprinted in my memory for so long. Every time, I thought of him, this is what came up.
After months of cursing myself, I realised that he may still be alive. Not in the reality I am having these thoughts, but in some other reality. His reality where his consciousness stays. Where he observes and not necessarily me. And that's the reality he is alive in. I found solace in the realisation that people never die. If we consider all possible realities generated each moment based on the decisions made, then there'll be at least one reality where he stays alive. We extend this logic and infer that at each moment out of all the possibilities, at least in one the man stays alive.
This even though not proven, gives a sense of relief and happiness. It is similar to blind faith, but the one that makes the most sense to me. And I am happy for my grandfather, that he's living his life, whichever reality he's in.
I love you, dadaji. <3
And I miss you in this reality.
I spent months feeling like a reason for this loss. The last few days of his life were painful, at least that's what I remember my parents telling me. He called out my name the night before he left, asking me to help him, I got to know. He wanted the pain to go away, a man who never asked for anything his whole life was crying for help. What still hurts is the thought that his pain was so unbearable that he gave up. He gave up his trust in himself, his family and me. I felt responsible for that. This image imprinted in my memory for so long. Every time, I thought of him, this is what came up.
After months of cursing myself, I realised that he may still be alive. Not in the reality I am having these thoughts, but in some other reality. His reality where his consciousness stays. Where he observes and not necessarily me. And that's the reality he is alive in. I found solace in the realisation that people never die. If we consider all possible realities generated each moment based on the decisions made, then there'll be at least one reality where he stays alive. We extend this logic and infer that at each moment out of all the possibilities, at least in one the man stays alive.
This even though not proven, gives a sense of relief and happiness. It is similar to blind faith, but the one that makes the most sense to me. And I am happy for my grandfather, that he's living his life, whichever reality he's in.
I love you, dadaji. <3 And I miss you in this reality.