Peace at Last: 4.7.1951 to 14.2.2010

This Valentine’s Day marks three years since Fredy’s passing. That day is as clear as crystal in my mind - in one way it is hard to believe three years have gone already, in another it seems so long ago I wonder that it is just three short years.

All’s well in my world as I board my flight in Ho Chi Minh city. It is the Chinese New Year too and I superstitiously touch the lucky coin from last night’s party. I know Jill will be at Changi and am impatient to alight in Singapore. I am past immigration when I switch on my phone and see the numerous messages - that is when I know. I see Jill behind the glass door, hug her a minute later and tell her something terrible has happened. We don’t say much, head for the small cafe and she orders tea - we both know that tea is the panacea for all things and nothing is so bad that a cup of tea won’t make it better. Now, my cup grows cold as I make the dreaded calls. I’m grateful for Jill’s presence and blessed that our friendship lets us be our real selves. It crosses my mind that we have so often been together in life’s defining moments...
 

I learn that Fredy died that morning, while I was in the sky. Kartik is on his way from Mumbai and will drive to the hills directly, Shweta will come tonight, I must go tomorrow,  two brothers will go with us and so on. I call Bianca and forbid her to make the long journey back. It is an unreal flight to Delhi. My neighbour makes pleasant chitchat till I tell him matter-of-factly why I can’t engage in conversation, ‘there is a lot going on with me, I heard an hour ago that my husband passed away’.  He is shocked into silence, as if I’ve uttered an obscenity and the quiet drone of the engines forms the backdrop for my myriad thoughts. I feel resentment and anger at his wasted life. I feel sadness at the loss of what might have been. I feel anguish for my children who have lost their dad. Above all, my heart aches for all of us in this time of sorrow.
 

Those days live in my mind as a collage of images. I remember the grey dawn after a sleepless night, as we start the journey along an oft-traveled road. I will never forget the sight of Fredy in the wooden coffin,  lying still and peaceful in his favourite blue blazer with the brass buttons. I am grateful for Kartik and his strong arm about my shoulder, we are blessed to have these perfect children. As the lid is gently closed, we are painfully conscious that we’ll never see this face again. My mind now keeps just the happy memories, through the years I knew him and of all we shared – Fredy and I and Bianca and Kartik.