Tag Archives: loss

The role of a hobby in a crisis

Some of us consciously look for hobbies. Some of us just go on living about our lives, doing the things that need to be done on a day to day basis, without feeling the need to cultivate a hobby.

Sometimes, when one goes through intense periods of crisis, one questions the true purpose and meaning of life. What is the real point of life? Will we see better days? How do we move forward from loss?

These questions all merit thought and discussion. Our low points in life are not few and far between. The daily rigmarole of life is often unbearable in the face of grief. Yet, if one has learnt to invest oneself in things larger than themselves, and actively so, then life feels lot more livable.

As I cope through the loss of my father, I still feel a sense of relief when I see the plants on my rooftop and front yard brimming with life. The loss I have faced is significant, yet, that loss of life is somehow adjusted by abundance of life somewhere else. You then truly learn to appreciate the cyclic nature of life.

My mother, put into a patriarchal setup in a traditional house filled in-laws in ’90s India, has only learnt to serve. A major chunk of her life has been about getting better at household chores, putting food on the plate on time, cleaning utensils and clothes, caring for us when we fall sick. She has not learnt to accept but give, and give selflessly. I have not seen her watching movies or enjoying nice meals at a restaurant. Now that I have picked up some of her work in the household, I realize that it would take a lot of drive to spare time to do things just for fun.

These days, while she is recovering from Covid herself, she has been watching YouTube videos and some TV, none of which she wholeheartedly enjoys. She keeps complaining that she wants to get back to the business of her former life, which is now a shell of what it used to be. I worry for her. I worry that she might feel so lost in despair that she might not know how to move forward. Even as I write this, I know that she perhaps will, but how well?

I feel if she did have a hobby, she might be able to distract herself, focus on something outside of her, have a momentary break from the pain in her heart. Which is why, my brother and I have to be extra careful with her.

I have found, even in these deep times of doom, writing has given me courage. Knowing that I can put these words out here, my feelings exactly as I feel them gives me courage. It makes me feel like I am leaving a small part of myself into these words and leaving behind a little bit of that self. Every moment that I stay focused in creation, I am in a state of metamorphosis, working toward a new self, someone who is stronger for the shells that she loses.

Has your hobby helped you deal with loss or grief? Do share your story with us.

The show must go on!

Couple of days before my father passed away, he wanted to come back home. He called us from the hospital in the morning, asking to be discharged. We thought it was a temporary burst. But he called again in the afternoon, this time demanding that he be taken home right away, despite the potential outcomes of us trying to take him out of the ICU.

He was heavily oxygenated and experiencing breathing troubles and chest pain. Perhaps he knew the end was near. He just wanted to be back once in his familiar circumstances, next to us, near his parents’ photos.

We could not bring him home.

My mother said, when my father was initially sick with Covid and at home, he’d mentioned that he would perhaps not get a chance to meet anyone ever again. My mother shrugged it off, thinking how people think negative thoughts when they are ill. Maybe, he really knew.

Do people really know their time is up?

Families that are dealing with Covid do not get much closure. Your loved one is fine one day and the next day they are being hospitalized. Then, all of a sudden, you hear the news they are no more. You don’t get to perform their funeral because you need to be safe. All in all, it is surreal.

We still are in a state of shock of whether it really happened. We still feel perhaps one fine day, he’ll just walk up the stairs and knock on the door and if we open it a tad too late, holler, “Where are you all? Open the door right now!”

I wish it would happen that way.

As we battle this pandemic, everything feels so uncertain. There was a point when I was saving money for retirement. Most of it is automated, so I haven’t put a stop to any of those. But all the additional investments that I used to make have been put on hold.

Life is so, so fragile. You plan one thing and another happens. I know hope is our only way to move forward, but when you’re this low, sometimes, you’re afraid to even hope. For my dad, I had written so many positive chants. I had visualized positive outcomes with him back home and us doing the things he’d love to do. All came to nothing.

Yet, till the time one is breathing, and breathing fine, one must be grateful for all that is. Once you close your eyes, for the final time, the world stops. There can be no more dreams. No more expectations. All debts are squared off, all credits are collected. It is the end.

While it is not, the show must go on.