It’s the 27th of July. A year since Rajeev died. One whole year. And a day. Sometimes it feels like so long ago. And sometimes it feels like yesterday. To be honest, I don’t know which one is worse.
Most of Rajeev’s family and friends consider the 26th of July as the worst day of their lives. But not me. Mine was the 29th of June. The day he got sick. How do you describe that one moment when you realize that nothing is ever going to be the same again? That irrespective of how it turns out, you’ve still lost the man you married? As terrible as the past months have been, for me, they are still better than that one month he was sick. Sometimes I wish I was not so stubbornly optimistic then. At some point, I even stopped listening to the doctors because I was so convinced that Rajeev was going to get better. Even on the day he died, when the doctors lost all hope, when they called the pastor to anoint him, I was still convinced that he was going to wake up. I remember standing there, holding Raja’s hand, as the pastor anointed him. And I was so angry with the pastor. “How can you anoint him??” I screamed in my head. “He’s going to wake up any moment now!” Like some lame-ass soccer mom, I was coaxing, encouraging, even daring God to make his miracle already. But then again, considering the extent of Rajeev’s brain damage, perhaps death was the miracle.
It still sucks though.
Today I’m literally half a world away from everything I know. I’m sitting at my desk in my apartment in central Sydney waiting for my family to come online to Skype. A lot has happened in the 13 months since Rajeev got sick. I often wonder what life would have been like if he never had that tumor. I can just picture us in the brand new apartment that we were so close to buying, with one maybe even two kids in tow. If nothing else, I wish I could just ruffle his hair. I was the only one who was allowed to mess with his hair and boy, did I abuse that right. He made my life so infinitely better. That one year we were married will always be the happiest year of my life. I know I spoke about wanting to be extraordinary and what not earlier, but truth is what I would really like, is just to be happy. Sometimes I wonder. Will I ever be that happy again?
Maybe not.
Maybe.
I believe that happiness is more a choice than a circumstance. I’m grateful that it’s a choice and I’m grateful that it’s a choice I am able to make. I know that the way I have been in this past year hasn’t been very widow-y. I haven’t been curled up in some corner waiting for the Dementors to arrive. I’ve done more new and different things in the past year than I have in my entire life. That’s gone over well with some. Not so much with some others. But then I remember something my dad told me just after Rajeev died. He said that while Rajeev was super close to a LOT of people, no one is going through what I am going through. (Which, of course, does not mean that what the others may be going through is in any way better or worse than what I am, it just means that it’s different.) It’s a wildly liberating concept, I tell you. It pretty much changed my life. And then I saw this TED talk about a snowboarder named Amy Purdy. She got sick and had to have both her legs amputated and then had to get prosthetics. After months and months of depression, she suddenly realized, “Hey. I can have any size shoe I want!” It made me think. “Hey. I can have ANY life I want!” And so here I am. One year later. Halfway around the world. Waiting for my MBA classes to start.
In this past year, I’ve read a lot about how people handle grief. But the best one I’ve seen so far is from Genesis 43: 30-31 “Deeply moved on seeing his brother and about to burst into tears, Joseph hurried out into another room and had a good cry. Then he washed his face, got a grip on himself, and said, "Let's eat.”
At the risk of sounding super corny, all I can say is that Jesus did not die so that I become a victim.
I will always miss Rajeev. And I will always love him. And yes, I will always feel awful when I think of what could have been. But when I do feel sad, I (like Joseph) will hurry into another room, have a good cry, wash my face, get a grip, and move the heck on.
