Ira came home after a long day at work. As she plopped her bag on the side table, the pile of unopened mail caught her eye. She sighed.
Some things she’d been avoiding like the plague. She knew all this, the unopened letters, the cluttered room, the cupboard, everything, at some point, would remind her of him. She was just not ready to plunge into the pain. Could she handle the emotions, which literally made her nauseous? Would she ever be ready to let go?
As always, the memories of that day flooded in. Disturbingly so, she could vividly recall every little detail. It was a normal evening. She was back home from work. Tired, she’d just sat down with her cup of coffee, and the phone rang. Irritated, she picked it up, half expecting it to be some telemarketer or a robocaller. But, it was a stranger. Talking frantically. She could just catch phrases through the garble of words…’Siddharth’ ‘accident’ ‘Kasturbaa hospital’. What? Long before she realized it, she’d clutched the handle of the chair hard, her knuckles gone white, as white as her face, drained of all blood, and emotions.
She shook her head. As if doing that would just wash away the memory of that horrible day! Her heart was racing, just thinking about it.
After the phone call, it was a flurry of frantic calls, to Vivek, to the hospital, to a cab, to friends. She was amazed at how clear her mind had been working after the initial shock. All through the cab ride to the hospital, she was on her phone, calling, arranging help, and managing things. This actually was giving her some respite from thinking about what was coming and what was happening!
As she reached the hospital, Vivek was already there! He’d done the necessary paperwork and was waiting for the doctors to deliver some news! Good or bad, they needed some news. The uncertainty was driving them crazy. After what seemed like ages, the doctor finally came out. One look at his face, and Ira knew in her heart, it was not good news. “But how bad can it be?” she thought.
She was strong enough to handle bad news. One hand tightly clenching Vivek’s arm, she braced herself. Both of them sat down with the doctor. What came next felt like an avalanche of bad news. ‘Siddharth has suffered severe head injury. Other injuries can be repaired, but brain damage….no brain activity….brain dead….” The words seemed to just tumble out of the doctor’s mouth. Ira’s brain was still trying to process what was happening when she heard ‘organ donation’. The doctor was asking if they would think of organ donation. That shook her out of her trance.
She was transported back to a day, a few years ago. Siddharth, her only son, in the course of a conversation, had mentioned organ donation. These dinner table conversations were the highlight of her day. The only time when the family came together, to share their day, their experiences, the ideas, and the challenges. She always felt more connected with Siddharth because of these conversations. The young mind had so much to share and teach. He was talking about an organ donation drive in their college, which his friends and he were going to enroll in. Ira had asked him casually, ‘Are you listing yourself as a donor?’ “Yes, mom,” the reply was instant and enthusiastic. ‘Why?’ she’d asked, not because she was averse to the idea, but because she wanted to know the reason. “Life is so beautiful mom, why should anyone miss the chance to live it! And if I can help them do that, why not?” In that moment, she’d felt proud and happy and light. She’d raised a sensible kid with a zest for life.
But as she sat there with the forms, with life slipping out of her hands, she could not come to terms with what was happening and what was required of her to do. She herself was a registered organ donor, but the decision to cut open her son’s body and give away what she’d nurtured was taxing on her. She could specially not sign up for the eyes. Siddharth’s big, dark eyes were the highlight of his face as they twinkled and smiled with all the enthusiasm and love he had to share. She could not imagine him without those lively eyes. But in her heart, she knew he’d want every possible organ to be donated. So she finally signed the form.
This goodbye was the hardest. She never allowed herself to cry, lest she break down completely. Days passed by, but time didn’t heal the wound. So, she decided to neglect it, hoping it would heal on its own.
In her heart, she knew the only way out of this was going through with it. So, today, she decided to deal with it, one task at a time. As she took the first letter in her hand, she realized it’s from the organ donation council. It was a thank you letter from one of Siddharth’s organ recipients.
“Life is beautiful. It’s not just about living, with a beating heart in a well-oiled machine called the body. You have to experience it. The blessing of sight has brought my daughter closer to experiencing this magic of life. She is more complete than ever. I can not thank you enough, and neither can I begin to understand your loss. But if it is any solace to you, the twinkle in the eyes hasn’t died down!”
And a tear rolled down Ira’s eyes. The first of many bittersweet tears.
