Placing Flowers

Putting flowers on Mum’s picture which Mary set up with an oil lamp burning on her ever present desk by her bed makes me realize now that I have lost my mother but acquired an ancestor god—I think she’d like that. She liked the upbeat style of country Hinduism—but this is not sentimental, but due to something seriously compelling that occurred when she died, and, thus, something deep rooted in me in my relationship with her I did not expect, actually, given our egos over the past two decades, where we had our rows and so on (not easy living with one’s mother, or, from her point of view, with a stubborn son) … but entirely appropriate this feeling that she leaves behind, a great bright positive life affirming light.—Life is so much more than ego; sometimes it takes death to make us realize this.

I realize basically that though Grace was a lover she was also a loner in spirit, she had a hard time with herself; she loved others (and me) more than she loved herself; but, because of India, she was always surrounded by the mirrored excitement and gutsy engagement in living and loving people for whom she always gave thanks.—A loner who is never alone, as Frank says.—So that now when Mum has left us, do I feel alone? Yes, and no—well, the thing that hit me was the empty chair, the empty bed, the space she occupied was empty, something missing like in the space around a fallen tree but at least here there was no saw, she went peacefully, blissfully. I was kind of proud of it!—the light she went out in and which is left in me. It’s true. Not just in general sense because of the odd person she was but almost literally, with her original style, a push forward with love.

Specifically, the manner subjective and objective in which she died I still find astonishing. I suppose it is ok to share this with everyone, it is personal, maybe it is not right, but anyway, it was unexpectedly beautiful (hope I don’t come off morbid and sentimental here) because I am convinced she went with an out-of-body experience … and from the corner of the ceiling was looking back down at us (Mary, Sneha, Pakkiyam and Velangkanni) all of us sitting round her on the quilt on the floor when she went all relaxed and calm and was breathing normally for about ten minutes or so when we were all very relaxed, mindless, and calm.

Our friend Frank called these months Grace’s twilight, but I have to say she went out like a gentle sunrise. Like I say, it was astonishing and I am still absorbing the wonder of this person who outlived the century which was ushered in less than a decade before her birth, certainly before everything changed in the Great War some of whose horrors she was old enough to witness in London.

Now hers was a good death, she floated above and saw herself and us: this is what I got. I should mention I do not go around having spiritual experiences, and counter intuitively the whole process was totally positive, relaxed. I am convinced she was checking us and herself—all out of body.