‘Hey, it’s not good news’, my sister’s voice cuts through before I can say hello. I hold the phone close to my ear, the rest of her sentences pushed through in a rush, words nearly tumbling over one another. Had the conversation been about anything else, it might have been difficult to understand. But prefacing it with those four words alerted my every sense to hyperfocus. To decode what she was saying and everything that she was not.
One of the first things I had to accept when I left home was that I was no longer part of my family’s everyday life, and they weren’t part of mine. At best, we get the highlights of each other’s week. I miss out on those little interactions that clue you in on how someone’s really doing. And I’m so occupied with my own packed, present-day that the best I can do is hope everyone I care about is looking after themselves. But I’m low-key, always expecting the other shoe to drop. And then it does.
Low-key I am always expecting the other shoe to drop. And then it does
The conversation itself was quite brief. A close relative had been taken seriously ill; he is receiving medical attention, but that’s all we know for now. Unfortunately, I’m now at an age when the family elders are, well, elderly. I’ve also seen enough of life to know that you don’t have to be a senior citizen to have something life-threatening happen to you. So, you could say that I’m not unprepared for bad news. The thing is, you could be prepared to get hit by a ton of bricks, but it would still feel like a ton of bricks smashing into you.
When this happens, I find myself simultaneously living two realities. My world is on the brink of shattering, and yet, for now, my schedule is undisturbed. A big chunk of energy goes into keeping my mind from wandering down alleys of unfinished conversations, regrets and the worst prognoses. The distance between us comes up as a frustratingly immovable obstacle, but apparently, grief travels. But so does lightness. Because what comes up just as easily is a reminder of the strength of the same person I’m worried about. I grew up watching him and others that I’ve already lost fight their battles with grace and humour. It painfully sinks in that they spent years preparing us to do the same, regardless of their presence.
Ananya Doraswamy is a Master’s student in Communication, Health and Life Sciences from India. She delights in a slow-paced day that has plenty of time for cloud-watching and tree-gazing. She enjoys being in busy, multicultural kitchens that have plenty of food and stories to offer.
