I have always been a daddy’s girl. My father was my rock, my support, my counselor and my guide. With two very strong clashing personalities in the house—my mom and me—my father was the one who navigated our family out of troubled waters time and again. A medical legend, he started his career with treating blood diseases in children, so it was weird to find that, at the height of his fame and career, he was diagnosed with an end-stage rare and very aggressive cancer that had found its way into his blood.

Despite the poor prognosis, he continued his work as a global advisor for public health and community health projects to national and international governments and non-government agencies. Ironically, he contracted the public menace—dengue—in his weakened post chemotherapy state, and passed away fighting the same diseases he spent a lifetime saving others from.

I had always read that grief has five stages, but you always think that these things are what happen to others. And then, I had to face them myself. Here’s what I learned.

How I Experienced the 5 Stages of Grief

Stage 1 of Grief: Shock

That moment, when the doctor walked out of the ICU to tell me my father had suffered a cardiac arrest, will be etched in my mind forever. Even as they tried to save him in vain, I stood by his inert body in utter disbelief. Three weeks earlier, he had been hale and hearty and his normal self. All kinds of hospital emergencies imaged from movies and TV serials went through my mind. I remembered those scenes where the doctor would tell the loved ones to speak to the patient, and the heart of the patient would miraculously start beating again. I tried cajoling him, pleading with him, shouting at him, even outright threatening him. But the heart monitor did not respond. I thought of scenes where someone would bang on the chest and the heart would start beating again. But no amount of CPR brought him back. In the end, I had to face the fact that he was gone.

It is a moment where different parts of your being seem to operate at different speeds. The past, the present and the future seem to collide in disjointed images, and the overwhelming feeling is that of shock and bewilderment. People around you tell you things, and you are both listening yet not listening at the same time. Perhaps this is the feeling of your soul being ripped apart, as part of you dies with your loved one. And yet, the rest of you is anchored in reality, where there are others to take care of and formalities to get through. And you plunge into a haze of activity as you try to banish your loss to the deepest and darkest recesses of your mind.

I had always read that grief has five stages, but you always think that these things are what happen to others

Stage 2 of Grief: Denial

No one is prepared for death of a loved one, whether it comes suddenly or after a long illness. But time doesn’t give you the luxury of grief immediately. In my case, I was immediately plunged into formalities—getting the hospital paperwork completed, making arrangements for the body to be taken home. These days you have mobile mortuaries that keep the body preserved at home till it is time for last rites.

I remembered my dad telling me stories of when my maternal grandfather had passed away and he had, with much difficulty, arranged for huge blocks of ice, that were salted to keep from melting, so that they could keep the body at home. And it hit me—I was already referring to Dad as a body. The thought seemed to freeze every molecule in me. This could not be happening. This wasn’t true. Dad was not… I could not even bring myself to say the D-word mentally. Someone asked me a question, and I shoved these thoughts away, again into far corners of my mind, in vain hope that if I don’t think of it, it won’t be true. And paradoxically I plunged into the next formality that needed to be completed. The body needed to be dressed properly because if you wait too long, the body goes cold and rigor mortis sets in. In this state, the body goes rigid and inflexible, and it is next to impossible to dress or re-position it. With the clock ticking, all these transactional activities kept me going, till we brought Dad back home, late at night, and there was nothing left to do till morning.

No one is prepared for death of a loved one, whether it comes suddenly or after a long illness

Stage 3 of Grief: Anger

As I lay down in bed, wide awake at 3am, all the thoughts I had been shoving away spilled over. This is the time when you should never be alone, even if the other person is sleeping or doing something else. The sense of loss, of loneliness, of all the things that will never be, hits you with a force that can take your breath away. Indeed, for a while, all I did was sit and count my breaths as time and distance warped in my mind. Snapshots from the past, his voice, his little actions, his idiosyncrasies all tumbled together in a kaleidoscope with what had been an expected future timeline with him, morphing to a timeline without him. And then came the rage, the injustice of it all. My dad, who had spent a lifetime saving others, had been failed by the very people he had taught. He, who treated and cured others, was lost to the very diseases that he had fought. Anger against cancer, against dengue, against the hospital, the doctors, against fate. Rage, disbelief and utter loneliness ripped through me night after night that first week, as sleep remained elusive.

Stage 4 of Grief: Bargaining

Surely it had not been his time yet. His own father had passed away just seven years ago. His own uncles were still alive. Dad easily had another 10 – 15 years in him. He was beyond particular about his health, waging war on salt, sugar and oil at home and at work. He meticulously monitored all his vital signs. When he passed away, apart from his blood report, every other report and organ was normal. He was a prime specimen for his age, even after cancer had decided to strike. In truth, he did not suffer much, as it had been just three weeks when we first discovered something might be wrong, and just one week from final diagnosis to his death.

The sense of loss, of loneliness, of all the things that will never be, hits you with a force that can take your breath away

Stage 5 of Grief: Acceptance

The last stage of grief is acceptance. There are moments where I feel I have accepted his absence. And then something triggers and I find myself back at one of the earlier stages. Sometimes I wonder if I really want to reach acceptance. Would it not be a travesty to not honor his loss? At other times, I tell myself, this is what he would want. To keep his memories alive through practising all that he taught me, and honor his life by living mine to the fullest, just as he did.

Conclusion

I don’t know what the future holds. I just know that I still expect him to walk through the door, with a smile on his face and a project on his mind. And if he saw me crying, he would just sit with me in silent support. In spirit, he will always be with me.

The post How I Experienced the 5 Stages of Grief appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

We are always trying to find the limits of everything. We haven’t even spared the Universe, making all kinds of speculations about when and how it began as well as when and how it will end. Scientists have propounded theories such as the Big Bang phenomenon which is an attempt to explain how all that is came into existence in one grand instant, then began expanding in all directions, and continues to expand even as you read this. Then, we also wonder whether this Universe will continue to expand forever or will it stop at some point in the future.

These questions suggest that we are unable to accept the idea of timelessness. We cannot imagine something that has no beginning and no end. Our own physical existence is finite and time-bound. Death is an eventuality that reminds us repeatedly about our limited time here. Consequently, we run and chase and go after things and people and experiences. We try hard to accumulate and own as much as we can before our time runs out, never realising that when death comes, nothing will matter.

Empty preoccupations?

No one can be certain about what’s beyond our physical existence, which we call death. Likewise with our birth—we don’t know where we were before we were born. Did we even exist? No one knows for sure where do we come from and where do we go. Do we simply appear one day and disappear another day? Is there a soul that outlasts the body, that existed before birth and will continue after death? These questions are futile because there can’t be “answers” to them. Instead, what we do have are a whole lot of speculations and conjectures that pose as answers.

Of course, there are theories in many ancient scriptures that attempt to explain the cycle of birth and death—some of them seem plausible too. But, without actual direct subjective experience, these theories are nothing more than beliefs. Since experience can’t be objective, it can’t be observed in a lab or transferred as knowledge. Thus, the mystery of life, of sentience and consciousness, seems fool-proof. We can’t solve it until we get there—that is, if there is some place to go, and if there’s something to know.

And yet, our preoccupation with beginnings and endings, with the mysteries of birth and death, takes us away from the only reality there is—the present moment. Life is only available now. We think, we remember, we imagine, we plan—but all of that happens when we are absent to the now. We are lost in contemplations and concerns of the world, losing the most important treasure of life: our awareness, which is eternal.

Not endless time

But timelessness does not mean “forever”; it does not mean endless time. It means no time. And we can only access eternity when we are absolutely present, free from thinking, just being. Only when we are free from time and free from all mental abstractions, can we perceive reality as it is.

We have all had glimpses into such eternity or timelessness on occasions when we accidentally slip into the no-thought zone of pure awareness—a phenomenon that cannot be described by words or understood by thought. Indeed, even trying to explain it relies on thought and memory, which is why it is impossible.

The most that I can say about my visits to the timeless fields is that you feel fully awake, your senses are heightened and everything around you comes fully alive, as if for the first time. Life takes on a completely different texture—rich, vibrant, glorious.

This richness, which is not a feeling or a thought but simply an awareness, lasts for as long as one remains free from time, and from incessant thinking. Then, when time and thoughts return, so do the chaos and speculations.

But the glimpse does one really important thing—it dissolves the need for pointless preoccupations such as the origins and the fate of the Universe.

The post Of our obsession with beginnings and endings appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

“How do I practise awareness?” You cannot practise it. How can you practise life? If you were dead you could practise life. If you are alive, how can you practise life? It is just that right now, you are not giving much room for your aliveness to happen because you have given too much significance to what you think and feel. Your psychological process has become far more important than your life process. Why awareness seems to be so difficult is simply because we have let our minds go into endless chatter. If your mind is not chattering, awareness is the natural way to be.

The primacy of existence

People have made their thought process so important. They have even gone to the extent of saying, “I think, therefore I am.” Which do you think is true: you think because you exist, or you exist because you think? You can generate a thought because you exist, isn’t it? We want to shift the significance to the life process. You can play with your psychological process whichever way you want, but it is only because you are alive that you can think.

Once in a while, if I just close my doors and sit in a place for five days, I do not have a single thought for five days. I don’t look out of the window, I don’t read, I don’t do anything. I am simply being alive. This is such a huge phenomenon happening within you, what is there to think about? Being alive is a far bigger process than your stupid thought process.

Anyway, what can you think? You are just recycling the nonsense that you have gathered. Can you think something other than the nonsense that has been fed into your head? You are just recycling the old data you have gathered. This recycling nonsense has become so important that you can even dare to say “I think, therefore I am”, and that becomes the world’s way of life. Existence is, even without your silly thoughts.

Not thinking, just living

If you choose, you can fully be and still not think. Please see, the most beautiful moments in your life are those moments when you were not thinking about anything. What you call moments of bliss, moments of joy, moments of ecstasy, moments of utter peace, these were moments when you were not thinking about anything but were just living.

Which is more important, living or thinking? You must decide this—do you want to be a living being or a thinking being? Right now, 90 per cent of the time, you are only thinking about life, not living life. Are you here to experience life or to think about life? You want to experience life, and you cannot experience life if you are lost in your thought. It is only through perception that you experience. You cannot experience through thought. With the past experience of life, you are cooking up something in your head—that is a thought process. Whatever you think has no significance because your thoughts have nothing to do with reality. They do not mean anything. Everyone can think up their own nonsense whichever way they want. It need not have anything to do with reality at all.

Your psychological process is a very small happening compared to the life process. Isn’t being alive right now more important for you than thinking? But if I trample upon your thought even a little, you are even willing to die for it. People die for their ideas. People die for their thought. People die for what they believe in. Thought has become far more important than the life process because people have not realised the immensity of what it means to be alive.

Logic divides

Because life has been restrained within the survival activity, thought looks grander than life. But it is not so. Thought is just a small happening compared to the life process. Aristotle is considered as the father of modern logic. His logic is very simple and straight—A can only be A, B can only be B. A cannot be B, B cannot be A. Can you argue with this? Logically it looks perfect. But let us look at this.

You are here either as a man or a woman. But how did you come here? Because a man and woman came together. Now suppose you are a woman, does it mean to say your father has made no contribution to you? He does exist within you, doesn’t he? Suppose you are a man, does it mean your mother made no contribution to you? Doesn’t she exist within you? The fact is that you are either a man or a woman, but the truth is you are both. Truth is that dimension which is not logically explainable. It does not fit into logic because logic is always dividing; truth is always unifying. So Where will this logic fit into life?

If you apply your logic too much to your life, all life will be squeezed out of you. The logical aspect of the mind is useful only to handle the material realities of life. If you try to handle yourself with logic, you will be a total mess because fundamentally, if you look at your life absolutely logically, there is no meaning to it.

When you wake up in the morning tomorrow, think absolutely logically. Don’t look at the sunrise, don’t look at the birds in the sky, don’t think of someone you love, your child’s face, or the flowers in the garden. Just think logically. Now, you actually have to get out of bed—that is not a small feat. You go to the toilet, brush your teeth, eat, do some work, eat, work, eat, sleep —tomorrow morning, same thing—over and over again. You have to do this for the next 40, 50 years. Think 100% logically, without looking at your life’s experience—is it really worthwhile?

Moments of extreme logic are moments of suicide, please see this. If we think 100 per cent logically about life, there is really no reason to live; there is really no reason for you and me to exist here. But if you look at one beautiful moment of your life’s experience, suddenly everything is sparked up and you want to live. The logical aspect of your life and the experiential dimension of your life are diametrically opposite to each other. That is why you are struggling with it. If you look at life experientially, there is every reason to live. If you look at life logically, there is no reason to live.

Why does someone commit suicide? Because they refuse to look at the experiences that they have had. If they fail an examination, people commit suicide; their husbands left them, they commit suicide; they lost their property, they commit suicide. People do it for so many reasons. Let’s say, today your husband or your wife left you. If you think logically, “My whole life was to love this person and be with this person, and now this person is gone. Where is the reason for me to live?” If you go logically, you will commit suicide. But if your husband or wife is gone, maybe it is a whole new possibility in your life. Maybe things that you could never imagine will happen to you simply because you are free from one aspect of life. We do not know, but it is possible.

If you think hundred percent logically, there is really no possibility of life. Only if you know to what extent your logic should go and where it should not go, your life will be beautiful. If you become absolutely logical, there is no beauty to your life. Everything becomes bare and no good.

A dimension beyond thought

Logic is essential only to handle the material aspect of life. If you want to know the experiential dimensions of life, you will never know it with your petty thought. Even if you have Einstein’s brain, it is still a petty thought because thought cannot be bigger than life. Thought can only be logical, functioning between two polarities. That is too small. If you want to know life in its immensity, you need something more than your thoughts, your logic, or your intellect. Only if you open up that dimension, you will taste life in its larger proportion. Otherwise, you will know only the physicality of life. With thought, you can know the physical and use the physical, but you will not penetrate anything other than the physical.

It is because the world has given so much significance to Aristotle and his tribe that all the sciences have developed in the physical dimension. With this, much comfort has come. You may be thrilled about how many things your computer or the internet can do, but if you really look at it, it has not done anything to your life. It has brought comfort and convenience, but ultimately, it has not brought you any joy. It has not taken you to any higher dimension of experience or existence.

In spite of all this exploration, no new dimension has occurred to you because the instruments of exploration that you are using are too limited. They are just logical and intellectual, so there is no way you will touch another dimension of life. It is not possible. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but it is as if you were trying to go to the moon with a bullock cart. It doesn’t matter how hard you beat the bulls it is not going to get there.

If you beat the bulls really hard, may be you can climb a mountain on the bullock cart, but you cannot go to the moon. Either you learn this out of your intelligence, or life will maul you and teach you a lesson slowly.

The choice is yours.

The post Awareness beyond thinking appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Thursday night, I held his hand as he watched television; it felt so surreal. How does anyone cope knowing these are possibly final moments? Friday, driving Dad to the hospital, I knew this was possibly my last drive with him. I told him, “You are the most patient person I know. I love you, Dad.” I tried to be positive, calm and strong. I wanted the car warm, and the drive peaceful. I needed dad, my hero, to be in the best possible state for his operation; mentally and physically.

The horror week begins

Friday night. My horror week began! As a crisis and grief counsellor, I know the signs of anxiety, shock, and grief, but this week they overcame me. Dad’s operation caused many complications in his liver, heart, blood pressure, kidneys, and brain function. When he finally regained consciousness, after a few terrifying days, he could hardly mutter a word; then he quickly developed delirium. Even though his eyes seemed to recognise me, he was speaking incoherently. He mumbled about paranoid conspiracies of nurses wanting to kill him. He refused medical treatment and the family were called in to give permission for life-saving procedures and to be prepared in case he “crashes”. This mental decline of Dad was not anticipated. While we were told it is normal to develop “ICU delirium”, I wanted to know where Dad’s mind had gone… Would it return? I’d never heard of this type of psychosis.

I no longer slept well, often waking, worrying about Dad

I was stuck in a horror movie; the family talked about legalities, the living will, power of attorney, and possible death. “I will not discuss his funeral! We need to be positive!” I said. I recognised disassociation, as I kept re-playing the family’s words, over and over. This doesn’t feel real! So, this is how it ends for my Dad, my hero? I’m in my client’s world of crisis, and I recognise the signs. I feel acidity, no appetite, and I’m trying to keep fear thoughts at bay. I suppress my fear, but then develop anxiety as waves of emotions, suppressed deep inside me, that rise up, and “break me” at any moment. I gave up suppressing the tears. I ordered coffee from the hospital cafe with tears streaming down my face. The love songs in the cafe angered me. Why did “Islands in the stream” have to come on the radio? Dad loves country music. My sister and I stormed out in protest! My dad was dying … Stop the music!

Signs of despair

I no longer slept well, often waking, worrying about Dad. Has he just died? Nana even “came to me in a dream” and shook her finger with disapproval. [I’d been telling her, “Go away, Nana. You can’t take Dad!”]. I felt constantly cold, another sign of shock. The adrenaline and coffee kept me strong for hours of visits, but the fatigue kicked in and I had to drive back home for two days to recharge. I hated being away from dad.

A big cloud had overcome my life; I recognised this as “preparatory grief”. I felt disconnected to everything, except Dad. I cried, as I told hubby, “Nothing in the world seems important to me anymore; just Dad!” I retreated from work. I lost all interest and felt like a turtle hiding in a shell. I didn’t want to talk to friends. I needed to conserve my energy. I texted updates, which helped me come to terms with the reality of this situation. I’d cry as I’d read, “Dad’s organs are shutting down. His kidneys are not working well. His liver could be failing. He may not recover from the delirium.”

I’m normally calm, but was finding myself becoming angered easily

My mum said she missed me, even though I was beside her. I missed me. Knowing how grief causes marriage issues, I consciously kept connected to hubby, but had little energy for anyone else. “You cannot control life,” he said. I needed to hear this. I can’t keep dad alive with my love… but I’m going to keep trying.

My mind would sometimes become disobedient; I’d see myself at dad’s funeral going over a speech. Stop! Dad is not dead! I know enough about the mind and energy to know that living in the present, in the now, is essential. I worked hard at keeping funeral thoughts out of my mind; instead, I kept visualising positive improvements.

I’m normally calm, but was finding myself becoming angered easily [another grief stage]. My sister and mum annoyed me, the nurses made me angry with their blunt updates. This anger distorted my thoughts. Why was Dad on so many sedating painkillers? Were they trying to kill him? Do they need the ICU bed? I was frustrated, hyper alert, impatient, and felt trapped in a world of trauma.

Shielding my dad

I resigned myself, even though it was hard, to leave the medicine mostly up to the experts. My role was to ensure Dad was surrounded by love, loving touch, and constant positive words. Knowing about the subconscious mind, I needed to ensure that dad [even though he couldn’t really talk] could hear all the improvements he was making. I would often say, “Your skin is a good colour. Blood pressure is going well. Your surgery is healing well.” I didn’t want dad hearing any negative, as his subconscious mind was too vulnerable.

Over one hundred friends and family prayed, sent good wishes, lit candles, and sent love

I kissed him over 30 times on the forehead, and held his hand, over the many days. Sometimes he’d turn his head when I’d take my hand away; his eyes seemingly said, “Don’t go.” I felt like my love was making a difference.

Nonetheless, I was losing hope, and needed to take action. In a desperate attempt to send more loving energy to Dad, I turned to my friends and family on Facebook and asked for prayers and good wishes. Over one hundred friends and family prayed, sent good wishes, lit candles, and sent love. I even had strangers sending love!

The miracle called love

As I write this, it’s eight weeks since his operation, and Dad is now walking, talking, and enjoying life at my brother’s home. During his last week in the hospital, his mind and body recovered well. He looked forward to his daily wheelchair rides around the hospital where he would meet the canteen staff, and hospital helpers, who had heard so much about him. For many weeks, everywhere I went, people asked, “How is your Dad?” The power of Facebook at the time when I needed support was incredible.

We are all connected… we all feel each other’s pain, and we can all help each other heal. In this challenging time in my life, I felt this love from my friends, family, and even strangers, as tangible, and instrumental in Dad’s healing. I also believe that it was my 30 kisses that helped save him.

The post How a daughter’s love helped this dad recover sooner from surgery appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

In the Delhi suburb where my husband Girish and I started married life, the library was a hole-in-the-wall space. When we moved to Chennai, I became a member of two libraries: Eloor, a single room that housed racks and racks of books; and, the plush British Council Library with its bright orange furniture and comfy couches.

Days after we moved to a Chicago suburb, I stepped into Schaumburg Township District Library for the first time and thought I’d stumbled into heaven. My imagination can conjure up pretty amazing stuff, but even I wasn’t prepared for anything like this: the cavernous carpeted spaces and books housed in two storeys; the adult section and the “Enchanted Forest” for tots, the music and DVD sections, ESL classrooms, computer labs and a cozy café.

Time stands still when I’m in a library; my fingers caressing the thick spines, smelling the ink and gazing at the tall shelves of books that never fail to remind me: so many books, so little time.

Books used to be my friends

It is daunting that I find no solace between the pages of a book now; something I’ve always counted on for escape. A book got me through most of life’s challenges: when Appa’s drunken binge pushed me to the fuzzy edges of sanity; when I started married life in a city without a single friend to call my own; when I missed my siblings; as a new mom doing the diaper marathon; and sitting outside the intensive care unit waiting for a white-coated doctor to show up with an update on Appa.

No book holds my attention now. When you’ve stared death in the face, trite characters and plots seem trivial. Akin to an alcoholic who gags at the sight of the amber liquid he once thirsted for.

Questions buzz non-stop in my head: Why me? Why her? Why now? Where did she go? Images recur, like a screensaver. One particular image edges the rest out, occupies centre stage: Amma’s lifeless body in a turmeric-yellow silk sari, its breath silenced. The image is accompanied by a single thought that plays over and over, a record needle stuck in its groove.

We come into this world with nothing; we leave with nothing.

Amma worked hard her whole life, but left with nothing except the one garment she was wearing.

This truth fills me with despair and dread. And if this is the truth, my entire life has been a lie. It mocks all that I’ve ever believed in: success, ambition, material comforts, basically a life of fulfilment. None of it makes any sense. I feel a void.

Trying to fit the pieces

You come into the world an innocent infant full of potential and possibility; you grow up and get an education; you get the right degrees; you get a job; you get married; have kids; they grow up and have kids; and if you’re lucky, you get to bounce your grandkids on your knee before you die an average unglorified death. Is this all there is?

Something tells me this script is incomplete; that I’m missing a vital link here.

And again, the single tormenting image. Amma’s body draped in a yellow sari, the only earthly possession she took with her—that too, only as far as the crematorium.

Where do the pieces fit, I begin to wonder. The struggle to find the perfect job, the one that makes you feel like a million bucks even if it doesn’t bring home anything close? The rented apartment which mocks you, so you obsess about finding ways to increase your real estate footprint? The scooter, the car, then the bigger car, the fancier car… and on and on, this relentless quest for ‘stuff’ we never get to take, anyway.

The answers begin to pop out

I wander around the library for hours, the questions growing louder inside my head—just so I don’t have to stay home alone and wrestle with them.

Just as I turn to head out, I come to a dead halt in the non-fiction aisle. A book screams out loud at me. A book I’ve glimpsed many times in the past, and know to be an Oprah’s Book Club selection—A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose by Eckhart Tolle. I don’t quite understand the urgency, but I lunge and grab it like it’s the last copy on the planet.

When I get home, and start to read, I cannot put it down. It has me hooked like a spy thriller, only it’s chock-full of philosophy that’s all new to me. Tolle refers to the ego as the false self, and illumines the need to awaken to a new consciousness from the place of one’s true self. I drink deep, waking from a long, dry thirst, as if this is the book I’ve been waiting for, the answer to life’s recent anguish.

When you die, the book proclaims, you will be judged on the basis of your true self, and how well you lived your life according to its tenets. Amma’s life flashes before my eyes. A+ all the way, I think to myself. She scores big because she had no desire to be right, to win the arguments, to walk over others. For most of my life, I had a word for it: doormat. I watched how she never let petty quarrels upset her rhythm, was rarely offended, and hardly ever blamed anyone, no matter what was going on in her life. What I’d always seen as weakness I now begin to know is strength.

My quest to understand death

Over the weeks, books on death and dying and the afterlife begin to fascinate me. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ On Life After Death explains that Amma shed her cocoon [physical body] and became a butterfly in death. I love the image of Amma as a colourful butterfly, flitting about sunlit gardens, drinking deeply to fill her soul, free and untethered in a way her earthly life could never be.

One evening, I pick up a copy of Sogyal Rinpoche’s The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying and flip through the pages. A friend handed me the book before I left Chennai. I skip to part two: Dying. The first words in the section speak to me: “In a hospice I know, Emily, a woman in her late sixties, was dying of breast cancer. Her daughter would visit her everyday and there seemed to be a happy relationship between the two. But when her daughter had left, Emily would nearly always sit alone and cry. After a while, it became clear that the reason for this was that her daughter had refused completely to accept the inevitability of her death…”

The words shock me in the solar plexus. It sounds so familiar to Amma’s story, and mine. A voracious appetite stoked, I read further.

Every page I turn, key concepts jump out at me: compassion, forgiveness, preparing to die, and dying well. Concepts I’ve never considered, being too busy living life. The words make me feel petty and childish. I consider the futility of the energy we invest in hanging onto grudges and offences, real and imagined. The truth: it all evaporates the instant our breath leaves the body.

The sense of urgency I experience is so powerful I stride to my desk, flip open my laptop and make a list of names. They are the people I’ve wronged and need to make amends with: a dear friend with whom I fell out over a silly argument; a business contact whose actions I’d silently questioned and blamed; a friend whose life I’d disappeared from. Dredging up incidents and names from the hidden recesses of my mind is strangely liberating.

Over the next half an hour, I compose emails to each of them, rendering an apology, resolving a conflict, taking ownership, letting go. When I’m done, my moral slate wiped clean for now, I feel a sense of deep peace in the centre of my being. So much better than the bitter acid that churned in my gut making me hold on, grasp, want to be right.

These books are my first encounters with a sliver of peace, a feeling that just maybe, there is meaning to this madness we call the earthly journey. Buried beneath the chaos and ruins of my tragic situation are treasures that I’m slowly waking up to.

The post Losing my mom and the journey to find myself appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

My friend lost a family member recently and shared with me that harder than dealing with her own grief was managing the well-intentioned, yet unhelpful and often inappropriate responses of others.

Reflecting on our conversation, I felt called to compile a list of helpful and unhelpful responses when confronted with the news that someone we know has experienced a loss.

How NOT to Respond to Someone’s Grief

1. Don’t ask what happened

The grieving person or family has probably already repeated the story of what happened dozens of times. Don’t ask what happened, how it happened, how it could have been avoided and indulge in a hundred other kinds of meaningless deliberations. This only stirs up their painful memories repeatedly and it is neither kind nor sensitive. If they want to share the story with you, they will do so on their own at the right time without your prodding.

2. Don’t say, “If there is anything I can do, don’t hesitate to ask”

This is the most common thing people said to my friend. She said it wasn’t helpful as it put the entire onus of figuring out what to do and who to ask on her, which further added to her sense of anxiety and feeling of being overwhelmed.

3. Don’t ask, “What are you going to do now?”

This question is entirely out of place for someone going through a grieving process. It reminds them of their uncertain future and forces them to confront practical considerations when the real priority is simply to stay present in the heart and allow the train of emotions to move through. Asking questions about what will happen next is actually intrusiveness disguised as care and compassion.

4. Don’t be completely absent / silent

Another inappropriate response is not showing up, not acknowledging when someone has lost a loved one because we feel we don’t know what we can possibly do or say that could be helpful. People do notice that you knew and never called, nor made any effort to connect. The idea that “I wanted to give them space” is no excuse to say or do nothing at all! While it is true that there is possibly nothing you can do to take away their pain entirely, your attentive presence itself can be soothing and quietly reassuring.

How to Respond Thoughtfully to Someone’s Grief

1. Listen and hold the space

Just be around. Be available. Sit with the grieving person and allow them to share whatever they wish to. Often they will have nothing much to say. Still just be there. Let wave after wave of emotion and tears come and go. Sometimes there is nothing but a kind of numbness. Hug or hold their hands as appropriate. Physical touch is incredibly healing. Pure listening without suggestions and advice is incredibly healing. Your undistracted presence is the greatest gift.

2. Share memories of the deceased

It is very meaningful for them to hear how their loved one touched your life in memorable and significant ways. It expands and enriches their narrative of how this life contributed to the larger tapestry of life as a whole. It reduces the sense their loved one died before their time or that everything is meaningless. They begin to realize that more important than the days in our life is the life in our days. Thinking of a person in terms of their qualities also enables us to look beyond the loss of their physical body. Bodies are temporary. Qualities are forever and live on through each of us.

3. Share how you dealt with your grief

If you have ever suffered loss then share your insights on how you dealt with it. Keep it real. Keep it practical. Share with empathy and without expecting that your experience will necessarily be the same as theirs.

Related » How to Deal With the Grief of Losing a Loved One

4. Do what you can

Instead of saying “Let me know if there is anything I can do for you?”, do what you can! Show up. Help out. Arrange food. Take phone calls. Lend your car. Make logistical decisions. Host visiting family or relatives. Allow the grieving person to “just be” as much as possible and take on as many of their responsibilities as you reasonably can. Actions speak louder than words.

I have used the words “lost” and “loss” many times in this article since that is what most people understand. However a more accurate word is “returned”—because they came into our lives from some place and have now returned to their original source. We cannot lose what is ours, we can only return what was borrowed. This subtle yet significant shift in understanding can enable us to do so with more grit and grace.

These are a few reflections from our conversation. Please share your own insights and observations.

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Watch it. It’s a wonderful and moving talk; the experiences she shares are remarkable. Becki shares many stories which, with her style of narrating, is a joy to watch.

At 1:01, she discusses issues faced by family members of a terminally ill or dying patient. Not every member of the family can be there by the bedside, she says. Some people are just not able to get themselves to be there. Either the needles and tubes make them nervous or just the fact that it’s time to say good-bye.

Becki suggests that in such situations families should not point fingers and send the other person on a guilt-trip saying, “You were not there when s/he wanted to see you.” She adds,”It’s not your job to see what the others are doing, it’s only your job to see what you are doing”. In such a case, instead of comparing and complaining, it is better to engage these people with other errands that need attending to, so that they too feel like they are contributing and it helps to share the load. See how they can contribute and put them to use. Don’t push them away.

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“Suffering is simply the difference between what is and what I want it to be.”
— Dr Spencer Johnson

If you’re human, you’ve known loss.

Where there is life, there is loss.

And loss is a word that contains much more than the death of someone we love and lose.

It is the grief we experience as we watch a beloved parent disappear into the shadows as dementia eats away at their sense of self.

It is the death of a marriage that once held the hope and promise of lasting happiness.

It is the severing of a friendship when betrayal and hurt tear apart the tenderness of a cherished connection.

It is the alienation of a geographical move, far away from everything and everyone familiar and known.

It is our children growing wings and leaving home to soar in the big, blue skies of freedom.

Loss walks alongside us on this earthly journey—because every life transition involves a measure of loss. How we deal with our losses determines how we live our lives. Some of us shut down and barricade our hearts, afraid and anxious of being hurt again. Others are broken open by loss and, as a result, go on to live more expansive lives.

Every loss has something to teach us—if we care to listen. Here are three lessons that come to us through the experience of loss in our lives.

We are not alone

Our first response to loss is usually Why me? It is normal to feel alone and believe that our life is doomed. We feel an intense sense of alienation, because we notice the world continues to move on, whereas life as we have known it has come to a complete standstill. But when we pause, take a breath and connect with the larger truth, this is what we know: Everything that is born must die.

Pain is part of the human experience and no one gets a free pass. This very realisation connects us to the truth that we are not alone in our experience of grief. Everyone’s life has its own form of pain—whether it’s a divorce, a terminal illness, family feuds, teenagers making poor choices or addictions that topple entire families. Singer Jana Stanfield’s lyrics “You hurt just like me, I cry just like you” bring home this powerful truth. So, no matter who you are and no matter the nature of your pain, stop and close your eyes for a moment. Connect with millions of others all over the world who are walking in similar shoes—and you will feel a little less alone.

Focus on what matters to you

Anytime we suffer a loss, life has a way of narrowing the lens. We have the opportunity to reflect on what truly matters—and let the other stuff go. When my mother died in 2009, a powerful truth dawned on me—I don’t have all the time in the world. It jolted me to the urgency of living my life on purpose, investing my time and energies in what fuelled my passions. I could no longer take my time here for granted. Living in alignment with that principle, I focus on my top passions: writing, teaching, coaching and learning. I have little time for gossip, complaining, or indulging in activities that drain my energy. Our soul is here to deliver its gifts, talents and treasures, and living purposefully is about being mindful of our soul’s agenda. Australian author Bronnie Ware draws our attention to this in her best-selling book The Top Five Regrets of the Dying. She says that the number one regret of the dying is: “I wish I’d lived a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.” When a crisis awakens us, it offers us a second chance to evaluate our priorities.

Heal another’s broken heart and you heal yours

When we are steeped in the sorrow of our loss, we buy into the notion that God or the Universe is unfair, unfathomable and punishing. But if we take the energy of our pain and turn it into purpose by serving another, the very act of being a healing touch in another’s life mends what’s broken in us.

For me, visiting nursing homes to console and comfort the elderly who ached for companionship was the most healing act of self-care in the midst of mourning my mother. Service helped heal my broken heart in ways that I simply cannot articulate. It is my belief that the Divine energy of reaching out in love was returned to me a thousandfold. Spiritual teacher Neale Donald Walsh, best-selling author of the Conversations with God series, says, “Your life is not about you. It is about everybody whose lives you touch.”

Loss is life’s biggest and best teacher. The only question is: Am I a willing learner?

This was first published in the April 2016 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

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Published by: Cognite—an Imprint of Embassy Books

ISBN: 978-9383359660

Pages: 232

Price: INR 250

Death and the afterlife are among the most debated issues, not just today, but forever. Do we go to heaven or hell? Do our loved ones remain in the skies, looking over us? Do they walk among us? What is the journey like? The questions are innumerable, and there are as many answers as there are people. The answers could be religious, spiritual, or philosophical, and there are many tomes which deal with it in detail. Priya Kumar’s latest book deals with the same subject, though in a much simpler, easily readable manner—one that we can all relate to, and actually understand.

I will go with you is a story of 300 passengers and the crew aboard a flight, whose pilot has decided to commit suicide on duty. It might seem, at first glance, to be fatalistic, as well as macabre, but Priya Kumar tells us a story filled with adventure, twists and turns and suspense, intertwined with deep philosophy and as well as discussions on life and death that leads the reader to introspection.

There are 300 passengers on board, but we hear the stories of only those in row 26: Sarah, a writer, struggling to decide whether to trust her boyfriend, or not; Jim, a young man obsessed with technology, who falls in love with Sarah the minute he sets eyes on her; Muttu, a clairvoyant and blogger, the only one who has an inkling of the death that awaits all of them; and Paul, a rich and successful businessman who struggles with questions about life and living in the larger perspective, and who changes his seat from the Business class to join the other three on Row 26 in Economy, thus leading to the conversations which enable him to finally get answers to his questions, albeit at the very end of his life.

In this book, Priya Kumar lives up to her reputation of being a stellar story-teller who has developed a keen knack of inspiring people even as she entertains them. Her wisdom flows through in the dialogues by Muttu, the most evolved character of this story.

This is an intriguing story that combines the heavy questions of life, death and everything in between, in the form of a suspense thriller. The author intersperses the fictional narrative with bits of philosophical thought, making make us stop and think about the situation, and even  helps us relate them to our own circumstances. In spite of this, the story doesn’t lose its momentum.

The book is aptly titled for it is indeed a journey of a lifetime—for the passengers of the flight as well as for the reader. After all, every journey of life ends in death.

I especially like the end, because it reminded me of a conversation I recently had with my son, where he said that in his opinion, people who die, don’t really go to heaven or hell. They stay back, unseen, with their loved ones, in the form of memories. Priya’s ending, though not exactly the same, brought back that conversation, and I appreciated how she turned the negative emotions into positive ones, by choosing to let her departed characters turn inspirational—for those they loved, as well as those who needed them.

The genre of ‘inspirational suspense’ is new to me, but this is one book I enjoyed reading!

This was first published in the April 2015 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

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Everything is absolutely based on a fundamental ultimate law: nothing ever goes wrong. Yes, sometimes it looks as if it has, because we were expecting something else. That is one of the problems of the human mind to be solved: we do one thing, we sow one seed and we expect something else.

We sow the seeds of one kind of flower and we expect some other kind of flower, so when the flowers come, we are frustrated. But flowers come through the seeds, not our wishes.

So always remember it: we constantly create our world. There are people who are constantly afraid that something wrong is going to happen, then it happens! And when it happens, they are proved right.

But, in fact, they have made it happen. It is not vice versa: that it has happened and they are proved right. Because they were thinking, constantly thinking, constantly creating the pulsation of it, the seed of it, it has happened.

People who are afraid will always find situations in which fear grips them. People who are loving will always find situations where love blooms. Because this existence goes on giving you that which you project.

Life is man’s project. We are our life’s creators. God has created man, but as freedom. So there is an essential freedom inside you; now it is up to you to choose what you would like to happen to you in life and then you will see that it starts happening.

One thing is linked with another, one thing leads to another, and slowly, slowly you have taken a certain route; then all other alternatives are dropped.

When a child is born, all the alternatives are open; he is utterly free. He can be a musician, he can be a poet, he can be a wrestler, he can be a politician, he can be anything… an Adolf Hitler, a Gautam Buddha; anything is possible.

But sooner or later choices start coming and he starts moving in a certain direction. Then that direction remains his world. So always remember: whatsoever has happened to you, you have been the cause of it.

Sometimes it hurts that you are the cause of all the misery that has happened to you; you feel sad. But there is no need to feel sad, because through it, you come to an understanding, and then things need not happen the same way again to you. You can change; you can manage your life in a different way.

You can live in a different way; you can be a different person—a totally different person! And the second thing to be remembered: for whatsoever happens whether it hurts, gives pain, or whether it makes you happy, always feel thankful. Because sometimes pain is needed for growth; pleasure is not.

So whatsoever happens, make it an opportunity to grow. Use that opportunity as a jumping board for something higher. A friend dies, there is pain, there is anguish and misery, but use that opportunity.

Meditate on death. Everybody is going to die. So remember that death is always there; don’t forget it. Your friend’s death has reminded you of a very, very significant phenomenon that death is there.

Don’t arrange your life without taking note of death that is the reminder in it. Maybe god has given you a message to get ready: the friend is gone, you will be gone one day, so prepare for death!

One has to learn from death as much or even more than one has to learn from life, because life is small, death is vast. Life is a small affair; a seventy-year affair in which one-third will be gone in sleep, another one-third will be gone in earning bread and butter, another one-third in other stupidities…. Nothing much is left! It is not a big thing, it is a very small phenomenon; compared to death it is nothing. Death is eternity.

And we prepare for life, we send the children to the school and the college and the university, for twenty-five years. If they are going to live to seventy-five, we give one-third for preparation. What preparation do we make for death?

And we are going on such a long journey. What provisions are there? How are we ready for it? So when a friend dies, it is a reminder to now become aware, death is there you cannot just forget it. And by forgetting, nothing is helped, it is bound to come! Don’t be like the ostrich.

You can hide yourself from death but death is going to come; whether you hide or not makes no difference. In fact, if you don’t hide yourself you may be better able to face it, to live it. And those who have lived death have attained to the immortal, because the immortal can be known only through death.

It is only in death that one comes to see that there is something inside, which never dies.So when a friend dies, meditate over death. Think about your own life, think about the priorities again, how you have been wasting your life.

Rearrange it; give it a new style and a new shape in which death becomes a prominent thing. Let it be arranged around death, and then you have used the opportunity. So even if sometimes you feel that things are not as they should be, use that opportunity. This is what I call the creative way of the sannyasin: using all kinds of possibilities and transforming their quality.

Excerpted from The madman’s guide to enlightenment/Courtesy: Osho International Foundation/www.osho.com

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