Learning Not to Be Two Parents

A day or two after my husband passed away in December 2021, my two-year-old rolled his travel suitcase toward me, lay flat on it like a baby Spiderman, and asked, "If Baba has gone to heaven, why hasn’t he taken his bag with him?" 

I burst into even more hysterical tears, completely unable to answer his question. But my son persisted: "Will he come back to take it?" 

Finally, one of my parents stepped in and answered, "No, Riaan. Baba is never coming back." 

We stayed in Bombay for close to three weeks after his passing to finish his last rites and pack my entire life of nearly eight years into cardboard boxes, all of which would be shipped back to my parental home in Chennai. On one of those final mornings, while we were playing on the apartment terrace, I wore my late husband’s flip-flops and an oversized metal band t-shirt. 

Once again, my toddler asked, "Why are you dressed like Baba?" 

I replied instantly, "Because I am Baba now." 

Mistake number one. Trying to become two people all at once is exhausting and logically impossible. I can never become my late husband—partly because I have a much better sense of style and far better taste in food! Kidding aside (perhaps this isn't the time to joke), I truly can never become him, and I shouldn’t even try. That is an honest explanation I later detailed to my child. 

Over time, his questions became more explicit, ranging from "Tell me the Baba die story?" and "What exactly broke in his brain?" to the dark humor he uses now. But he has coped—my brave little boy, who isn't a toddler anymore. 

Today, I receive the intense love of two parents, along with all the intense work that comes with it. I happily accept this responsibility, in this lifetime and the next. My son remains my life’s greatest blessing and the ultimate healer of a broken widow’s heart.