The Lingering of Human Life Post-Death

Perhaps the real reason I haven't bought myself a Mickey Mouse watch again is probably because it will instantly remind me of the pink one I owned, purchased by my late husband for me from Hong Kong Disneyland's gift shop. There's another niggling part of my brain that also says, "The bracelet he picked up for you is still around, along with the purple Minnie earrings. Also, you're a grown woman—maybe keep wearing Superhero watches for now; those at least pass off to be adult and mature." 

The watch, along with Bengali food, is something I won't dare try again after all these years. The memories are strong. It is also the reason I'd probably never visit Bombay, Delhi, or Calcutta again, unless it's for work; then I'll have no choice. I call this the lingering of human life post-death. And this is the part where I tell you, just let your grief grief, because if you don't, you'll find yourself being hospitalized for breathlessness on a normal working day (guilty as charged). 

Jeera rice, buttery paneer, Puja Pandals, and cholar dal instantly remind me of my late husband's dimply face. That's my griefy fear, which I've simply refused to face in all these years. I'm still not brave enough to travel down any of these roads—culinarily or geographically—yet, and I accept my cowardice for now. Not-so-griefy person, yet grief-ridden on occasion, out!