“How is your health? How are you doing?” have been my standard text messages to a good friend every two or three weeks ever since she was diagnosed with cancer last summer. The answers have varied depending on the stage of treatment but the tone of her responses has remained consistently calm. You could see that she is hanging in there, taking the treatment in stride. And when I met her last summer she said she is falling back on data supporting her diagnosis rather than being swayed by emotions. It’s one thing to say something but another thing to put it in practice under trying circumstances. I salute her courage, resilience, and the ability to stay above the noise. Wishing her the best of health, now and always.
The house is quiet. Ram is drifting to sleep. Hari has texted me saying that he and Da will be home in another 30 mins after his Sunday evening cricket practice. Ha, thinking of the kids make my heart leap with joy and makes me relive some of the little moments with fondness.
Ram is Hari’s Fitbit sidekick. When Hari is falling short on his steps count, he ties the gadget around Ram’s wrist, which makes him responsible for moving the needle on the Fitbit. Ram, who has no gadget of his own, is thrilled to bits and is happy to parade around the house to help out his brother in his mission. Lately, he has figured out that he doesn’t have to walk to add the steps, all he needs to do is shake his wrist. This evening, Ram has been dutifully multi-tasking with the flipping of Asterix book on one hand, and shaking his wrist on the other hand.
I am also reminded of the conversation that we were having on our way to Sunday school this morning. Hari was generally mocking us (his parents) for our reaction to his grades. “You only got 90 out of 100? What happened to the 10 marks Hari, is what you guys would ask. But when I didn’t do as well on one challenging math test, you were ok with it. That’s my life Ram!”, he proclaimed in a melodramatic fashion that only a teen can. Listening intently to this, Ram grandly concludes, “Hari, I think it is better if we just get lower marks then.”
Da and I were having an argument over something. Hari came upto me and said it was uncomfortable to be a witness to the argument. “Sorry babes, but I have all these emotions and feelings that needed an outlet,” I explained in an attempt to keep it real. “Amma may be you can have a Screaming Day. On Screaming Day, go to a quiet place, and give it a rip I say.” “But Hari that will be no fun because nobody else other than me will be miserable,” I retort and both of us start giggling imagining the whole scenario. A few seconds later Hari says, “By the way on Screaming Day, I would like to come with you too. I have a thing or two to scream about you see.”
I can feel it. The anger. Simmering, boiling, waiting to erupt, to only leave a trail of destruction. I hate that it has such a hold on me. But I am also thankful that I am aware. That I am feeling angry. That it is a fleeting emotion. Of the sullen faces at home if I succumb to it.
The very simple, enormously difficult, and the only sensible thing to do is to not react. Give anger the time and space it needs to pass. To just sit tight. The damage is done, what good comes out of fighting over spoilt milk?
Somehow writing these few lines has magically calmed me down and allowed the intensity of the emotion to pass. Da, who is blissfully unaware of what’s brewing in my head and is snoring away to glory, must thank his lucky stars that a domestic disaster has been averted (or has it? Only time will tell!).
In case you are wondering what this hullabulla is about. I warned about icy driveway and walkway last night. But according to the facts he had in front of him (warmer temperature), there was no need to rush to the store to get salt because the chances of having black ice is unlikely given the temperature. Not only that he asked me to check if my shoes have worn out. Grrr….!!! Poor Hari had to pay the price by slipping and sliding in the walkaway when he returned from cricket practice late last night.
That’s my friday morning quota of much ado about nothing. Thanks for reading people.