Passionate Devotion: An Unyielding Emotional Commitment
Losing someone as close as my Appachi - my de facto "granny" - hit me hard. She and Vallyachan, my other constant in life, were more than just relatives; they felt like my nearest and dearest. Our bond only grew stronger as we aged, with college years spent under their roof and frequent weekend visits post-graduation. I'd say they were even more important to me than my biological parents, and I'd typically list them in my top favorite people on Earth.
Don't get me wrong; our bond never dimmed even after I moved to Hyderabad over a decade ago. Phone calls kept us connected, with Appachi and I sharing our weekly news and gossip, while Vallyachan and I engaged in deep, philosophical conversations. But since Appachi became bedridden and Vallyachan's health deteriorated, our calls have been sorely missed. Now that Appachi's gone and Vallyachan's dementia progresses, the void left by the absence of those cherished calls feels permanent.
I thought I was prepared for the end, knowing it was coming, but nothing can really prepare you for the loss of someone so dear. Though it's true she led a long, happy life without much suffering, it's the mountain of incredible memories that drown us, the ones closest to her, rather than the rational justifications that make this hurt.
I've experienced family loss before, but never so personally. The constant tears even days later are a testament to that. And on top of my grief, the thought of my Vallyachan, the other constant in my life, fading away slowly, is simply heartbreaking.
A relative recently shared some unusual wisdom: "Don't love too much or get too attached; it'll only make it harder to move on when they leave." I didn't know how to respond; their advice seemed to crush the very essence of the love our family members have always shown us. They've loved us without limits, creating memories I'll cherish forever - memories I wouldn't have if I'd kept them at an arm's length.
In an attempt to protect herself from pain, this relative has lived her life with a "limited love" philosophy. But as I reflect on her detached relationships with her own kids and grandkids, I can't help but be saddened. By foregoing love, she's missed out on the most precious gift of all - love itself.
Despite the pain of losing Appachi and the slow fade of Vallyachan, I find comfort in the memories. When I close my eyes, I can hear Appachi's affectionate voice calling my name, feel her gentle touch on my hair. Vallyachan, too, recently took my hand and with a sweet smile said, "You are our granddaughter, and you have always meant a lot to us." Moments like these remind me that loving without limits rewards us with a lifetime of cherished memories, even in the face of heartbreaking goodbyes.
So, don't be afraid to love. Love deeply, love without restraint, because it's not just the pain that comes when people leave; it's the love that creates happy memories that last a lifetime. Embrace the tears, embrace the joys, and love knowing it's the best gift you can ever give each other.
Originally published on Medium
Share this: * Facebook (Opens in new window) * LinkedIn (Opens in new window) * X (Opens in new window) * Tumblr (Opens in new window) * WhatsApp (Opens in new window) * Pinterest (Opens in new window)
Like this:
- The love and support from Appachi and Vallyachan, who felt like family, impacted not only my lifestyle but also served as a cornerstone for my relationships, shaping my personal growth and my approach to love-and-dating.
- In the realm of education-and-self-development, I learned the significance of strong family-dynamics and the impact of unconditional love from these two individuals, thus fostering a unique perspective on the importance of such relationships in my life.
- As I navigate through life, I strive to embody their love and maintain open and meaningful relationships, understanding that cherished connections bring deep personal fulfillment and contribute to a life well-lived.
