The Bereaved

I wonder what sucks more. Being dead or being in the shoes of the bereaved. I'm going to choose the latter, for obvious reasons. Talking about my 35 year old deceased spouse is both a comforting and unpleasant experience.

There is no "moving on", from something as life changing as that. So thank you, to the friends who call every week to check in on my cuckoo quotient (yes, I'm talking about you, Kiron and Ritesh) and thank you dear close friend of poopie's who I've met for all of ten minutes in eight years (not sure you want to be named) who made the effort to fly down from Bombay to Chennai, during his visit from the U.S. 

I wish the circumstances were better, for all of us to have bonded or met. I still can't believe poopie is no more. I wake up most mornings, day dreaming he's alive and will be home over the weekend. 

A little over four months since he passed away and I still strongly believe, it wasn't his time to go. Yes, he was super stressed with work, he couldn't say "no" to people and he hardly slept. However, all these factors, are still not reason enough for a 35 year old man, with a less than 3 year old son to have died. 

He wanted to live and drive an environment polluting, diesel S.U.V while he breathed and sold renewable energy at work. He still had half a dozen disgusting jokes in him, which potentially could have had him fired. He wanted to take a week off, for our 8th wedding anniversary and he promised, he would decrease his work travel, in 2022. 

If I'm being honest with myself, he wouldn't have lived up to that last promise. He was a smooth talker that one, a little over 11 years of being a management consultant, does that to you, I suppose. 

We all miss you poopie. We miss you in the awkward silences and the inane chatter. You did have some beautiful friends and I see that now. 

How lovely it would have been, if I could wake up tomorrow and live in a world where you would still be alive. Alas, my hands and eyes have done and seen too much, to bid adieu to your gorgeous physical frame, to know that this wish of mine, can never come true. Not in this birth anyway. 

Until we meet again, my dearest poopie. And I know, we will.