"I remember..."

Written by Sudha Devi Nayak
I remember you every time I peel a boiled potato. I remember you every time I shell an egg. I remember you in my moments of loneliness when depression hits me and I feel distanced from everyone. I remember you when the garbage truck drives up under my balcony and there is no one to engage with the driver. I remember you when I see the long overgrown blades of lemon grass you loved to chew on surreptitiously.I remember you at meal times when you waited in the kitchen in anticipation for me to fill up your bowl with warm food. I remember you at tea time when I kept ready a biscuit for you and you asked for more.
I remember you for the ecstatic, acrobatic welcome I would receive from you when I would get back. I remember you for your style, the sophistication in your step, your regal grace, and the shine in your limpid brown eyes. I remember you whenever there was a quarrel or unrest at home you hid under the bed and emerged only when things seemed right. I remember you for the warmth you exuded when you lay breathing softly in my lap with the warmth of your body seeping into my soul. I remember you when patches of sunshine enter my drawing room and how you would lie and luxuriate in them, the gold of the sunlight dappling your white body.
I remember you whenever the doorbell buzzes the anticipatory excitement of who you would find behind the door, friend or foe. I remember you standing on the balcony looking up at the night sky perhaps with thoughts of your own, feeling a nameless peace. I remember you every moment, your absence an unending presence everywhere. I remember you in all the spaces you had inhabited, in all the daily occurrences of my life. I remember your love as unconditional, uncomplaining, unquestioning, and uncritical, a love that is given with the understanding that you deserve nothing in return but are just content to love. And yet I remember your mute appeal to be loved, your resilience in moments of suffering, your undiluted joy at the mere act of being and the quiet dignity with which you gave up at last.
I remember the guilt I felt, the guilt I still carry of perhaps, not having loved you enough, of my moments of indifference and accepting you for granted, that you will always be there. Everything is a daily reminder of you, a daily love I had known and cherished, the gloss on your back, the wag in your tail, your eyes, a boundless love beyond words. How can I stop grieving for someone who visits my dreams and thoughts and whom I have loved and lost? Grief is a moment that recurs over and over. There is no closure to real grief. It is a continuance and a way of honouring the dead.