Since her passing away, everything seems to be falling into place, almost as though an unseen hand is quietly arranging things for me. It feels as if a divine presence is guiding me through this difficult period of my life.
Without in any way discrediting the kindness and support of the people who have stood by me, I cannot help noticing the many remarkable coincidences that have made things easier. Even those helping me have remarked on how certain things have worked out almost miraculously, from finding the right group of lamas to perform the final rites to securing the right spot at the cremation ground and having favourable weather conditions when they mattered most.
The tse (རྩིས) says that the departed would be reborn in the realm of the gods (thoray) within 21 days. Could that be the reason why things seem to be working out so smoothly? Is she trying to make things easier for me from a place where she could like a God?
Who knows? If she has indeed been reborn in the realm of the gods, perhaps she possesses powers beyond my understanding. And if she is still watching over me, then in my own way, I might as well consider her my personal god from now on.
It’s is difficult to not to have a person near after being together through thick and thin for 27 years. It is difficult to comprehend how someone who was such an integral part of my everyday life can suddenly no longer be physically present. The routines remain, the world continues to move, and yet the person with whom I shared so much is no longer beside me.
I tried everything I could to make her stay a little longer. Perhaps there were other options we could have explored, other things we could have tried. Such thoughts inevitably visit me and makes me regrettable. However, there comes a point when one must make the difficult choice between pursuing treatment and sparing a loved one further suffering, especially when the treatment itself threatens to become more unbearable than the disease.
I might have carried the regret of that decision for the rest of my life had the tse not offered some measure of reassurance. It told us that her life had been exhausted, like a butter lamp whose butter and wick had both been completely consumed. As if to comfort me further, it said that even if thousands of Buddhas had come together, saving her life would have been exceedingly difficult. Those words brought me some peace. They helped me understand that perhaps her departure was not the result of anything I had failed to do, but the end of a journey whose time had come.
Yet understanding something intellectually does not make it any less painful to witness. It was heartbreaking to see a beautiful woman, once so full of life, gradually waste away, becoming painfully thin and appearing to age rapidly before our eyes. More difficult still was watching her endure so much suffering: unable to speak, unable to swallow for weeks, and becoming increasingly dependent on others for even the simplest needs.
Her parents, relatives, friends and all those who loved her felt helpless. We wanted to do something, anything, to ease her suffering, but there was so little we could do. Eventually, even those closest to her came to feel that perhaps it was kinder to let her go than to prolong her suffering.
When she finally took her last breath, she was surrounded by the people who mattered most: her parents, children, best friends and siblings. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have their loved ones gathered around them at the final moment. Her pain had been eased by medication, and she was able to leave this world peacefully, surrounded by familiar faces and the love of her family.
It was a heartbreaking farewell, but perhaps it was also the beginning of her journey to a better realm, as we would come to learn later.
As I write this, 27 days have passed since her departure. And still, things seem to be working out in ways that make me wonder whether she is somehow continuing to look after us.
The worry about the house remaining vacant has been resolved. The car broke down at what turned out to be the right time and in the right place. Small incidents, perhaps, but each one leaves me with the feeling that someone is quietly watching out.
I know there may be perfectly reasonable explanations for these events. I also know that grief can make us search for signs of the person we have lost. But does that necessarily make the comfort we find in those signs any less meaningful?
Perhaps it is faith. Perhaps it is coincidence. Perhaps it is simply the enduring influence of a woman who spent 27 years being part of my life, shaping my decisions, sharing my burdens, and helping me find my way.
Or perhaps, in ways that I cannot explain, she really is still guiding me.
Whatever the truth may be, I find comfort in believing that our bond did not end with her last breath.
Sometimes, when I find myself in a difficult situation or when something unexpectedly works out in my favour, I instinctively look up and speak to her.
“Pem, please guide me, as you always did. You got the power now. ”
And then I carry on, hoping that somewhere, somehow, she hears me.
