Every time I found myself reminiscing her memories, I reprimanded myself and forced myself to instead envision a future we would live together. All the way, I kept telling myself, she's a tough one. I clutched my flickering heart—if it meant digging through the rubbles with my own hands all night, I would give her my last breath.
But then there she was. My baby. Crushed in the rubbles all the way up to her face. Trapped, with the entire house on her back, cold and silent. She could have done anything she wanted in life. She could have gone anywhere in the world and led a comfortable life. But there she was; having chosen to serve a community she didn't owe anything to.
"When God gives you the strength, power and opportunity to serve other people, what do you do? You give it everything you have, you give it your life," I used to tell them all. She had taken me too literally. 11 PM in the night, I pierced the silence of the deathly night with a shrieking cry of pain as I felt myself tearing apart in thousand little pieces.
As they pulled her out the next morning, I began to recall the many faces that I had seen on her over the year that I worked with her as her trainer, coach and more as a big sister. First there was that face of a confident graduate who had just completed her Master's in Microbiology. Then there was that face of a newly-wed bride glowing in the marital bliss. Sometimes, there was a concerned and worried face of a daughter and a daughter-in-law who had left both her families in Saptari to come all the way to Sindhulpalchowk to serve in public schools. Occasionally, there was this face of doubt when she would question her decision to live away from her family, away from her husband, and when she doubted her strength to carry on. At those times, she'd come to me and say, "Didi, can I get a hug?" After I'd give her a tight reassuring hug, there would be that face re-lit with determination to carry on. And then, that day, there was that face that had lost all sign of life but still had a tint of her mischief, confidence, and strength.
At times like this, acknowledging death is difficult but releasing yourself of guilt is a much bigger ordeal. That morning, I heard her asking to be hugged again. When I hugged her that last time, I heard her say, "Don't worry Didi, it's okay." Maybe, that final time, she wasn't asking to be hugged, she wanted to hug me instead. Maybe she could sense the insurmountable remorse and guilt I was drowning in. All year long, I had been a tough coach. I had denied her the comfort zone. I had pushed her to prioritize her trainings over spending time with her newly wed husband. I had pushed her to stay in sessions instead of being home with her parents who were in Kathmandu for medical check-up. At having to make such tough choices, her heart and eyes would fill up and with an apologetic face I would say, "I'm really sorry, I can imagine how you feel." To this she had always replied, "Don't worry Didi, it's okay."
As typical of any one who has been through trauma, I have gone through a roller coaster of emotions. For the last several weeks, I have grieved. I have cried. I have gone back again and again to that excruciating pain of finally acknowledging her death. I have been frequently contemplating about death and dying and what is worth living for. I feel apathetic and unable to support or connect with people and understand their fears and anxiety. I'm often irritated and consequently, have picked up unnecessary arguments with my husband. I have been skipping meals. Most of the time, I feel cramped from waist down. I swing back and forth from feeling like I have overcome my grief to being crushed with the same sense of loss all over again. In my dreams, I see myself continuously cleaning and clearing up mess. I'm craving to return to "normal".
Thank you for listening. Thanks to my editor who allowed me this space to grieve a loss and express in words what I haven't been able to say in person to anyone yet.
Today, I chose to share this also because I wanted to emphasize how important it is to "talk". Traumatic experiences such as these shake up our entire existence. You may or may not have lost someone. But regardless, this can be equally disturbing. It shakes up everything we believe in, our sense of stability, and our sense of certainty and predictability of life. It raises hundreds of questions in our mind about life and death. It uproots deep hidden insecurities, fears, and sense of powerlessness. Suddenly we realize that we are not as strong or powerful or compassionate as we thought. When faced with our vulnerabilities, we realize we are much fragile than we ever dared to believe.
At this time, acknowledge the losses and embrace the roller coaster of emotions that you are feeling. Remind yourself that you are not going crazy. Remind yourself that this will not always be like this – this too will pass. Be mindful that your stress is probably taking a toll on your physical health as well as your relationship with your close ones. Allow yourself to feel the pain, to grieve, to cry, to be vulnerable, and to be fragile. Talk as much and listen as much. Talk to me, talk to your friends and family, talk to someone, talk to anyone, but TALK! Sharing has an amazing power to heal.
* Sujita Chaudhary was a Teach for Nepal Fellow teaching Science in a public school in Sindhulpalchowk. It was her dream to encourage girls to take up higher education in Science. Soon to be established Sujita Memorial Trust will strive to make her dream come true. Please contact Teach for Nepal if you want to support the Trust in any way.
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