…that we will move back to India after all. During the worst of the worst times, the thought of escaping was a thought that kept me going. But I went to a Diwali party at work, and people were pushing and shoving each other and grabbing to get the last gulab jamun. I could have cared less about the gulab jamun but I just realized just how very different it all was, and how alien I felt…and that in the middle of the United States.
I think my husband is wrong that I’d never survive in India. But I think it wouldn’t solve my problems. It wouldn’t bring my father back, and I might not be able to get over the feeling of loneliness there either. My family in India were telling me last week about the oppressive (even for them) heat. Yesterday my aunt in Mumbai told me yesterday that the rains have come there and dengue etc. are rampant and everyone is on edge. I don’t think I want to deal with that. I’d rather be lonely.
About my dad, things are improving a bit. The hardest is the lack of continuity, I guess…I think back to something he used to do (like he used to vacuum whenever he came to visit) and because it was only just a few months ago, I see the vacuum and think he will do it again. Then I realize he is dead, and each time I realize that it’s like I lost him again.
I guess it gets easier because those hanging threads ultimately get cauterized. As time passes, the memories of “before” don’t include your loved one either, so you don’t notice the discontinuity as much.