I NEED YOU

“Mom, bring it fast. I can’t wait anymore!”, I said. I could smell the pasta with the flavours teasing me, all the way from the kitchen. As my mom placed the dish on the table, she went on to say, “One of these days, you have to learn how to make this pasta. When I will be too old to cook, you will have to make it for me.” “Not so fast. But don’t worry, I have the recipe.”, I said. “Not the secret ingredient.”, she said with a smile. “I am going to guess it any day now.”, I quipped as I put a mouthful of the delicious goodness into my mouth. As I closed my eyes to savour it, the last thing I see is my reflection, in my mother’s beautiful eyes. I seem happy.

 I wake up with a jerk, realising it was a dream. It was the last good memory I remember before the chaos. Before that dreaded night, you left us mom, I think to myself. “Dahl, honey, you have to talk to your father. You need each other during these grievous times.” Dahl (short for Dahlia) that’s what my mom used to call me. I look up to see mom sitting on the sofa with a suggestive look. Everyone processes grief in different ways, I apparently do so by hallucinating about my dead mother. “We really don’t have to, mom. He is preoccupied with work and so am I with school. Everything is fine”, I said. Mothers, don’t stop looking after you even in afterlife!

It has been 3 months. 3 months, since the night you gasped for air and I stood in shock as dad dialled for an ambulance. 3 months, since my dad lost the love of his life and I lost my best friend, my confidante, my mother. People say time flies by- it does, when you are living your life to the fullest. But for us, it has been a never-ending series of excruciating pain and wishful thinking. Every second thinking what could’ve been. At least I do. I think dad does too. I wouldn’t know, we haven’t talked much since the car ride back from the funeral when he limited his words to- “God, I hope she is happy.” Come to think of it, it is easier this way because every time I so much as think about her I drown in a cesspool of tears. I am sure he does too. And not talking about it, let’s us go about our lives normally, whatever that is. I rested on this plethora of thoughts like a pillow and drifted off to sleep.

Next morning, I go downstairs to stop for breakfast before school and frown at a plate of sandwich. “The crusts aren’t cut off; I know but eat it. He is trying.”, Mom said. As I rush out the door, mouthful of sandwich, I see dad frantically searching for his keys. I look at mom who points to the drawer in the corner and take the keys out. “Give him two Krispy cremes too!”, mom says all excited. As I hand him the keys and the treats, he looks at me surprised. “Who told you I like to keep them for good luck before an important presentation at work?” I glance at mom, who chuckles and blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. “Mom told me…. I mean I saw her giving these to you”. Wow, lying comes easy to me now. Dad does what you will hardly call a smile and goes out the door.

On the bus ride back from school, I tried guessing the secret ingredient. Basil? Cinnamon? Anchovy? Mint? All these guesses were met with mocking laughs from my mother and crazy stares from half of the children on the bus. As the night sets in, I complete my homework and go down to dinner automatically. As I walk down the stairs, I remember the times mom used to knock and beckon me for dinner. We both ate in silence. As I stuffed the store-bought pasta in my mouth, I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “What is this dump? Mom made it so much better.” “What did you just say? She is not here and all you care about is the food? I have not mourned my wife’s death and delved straight into work for you to sit here and gloat?”, he growled. I felt anger building up inside me. All those repressed emotions struggling for a way out. “Dahl, don’t say a word.” I couldn’t hear her anymore. “Really? This is you trying? Leaving for work without saying a word and coming back home to more silence!” I shouted. “What do you want me to do? Sit still while you throw silly tantrums? Even your mother’s death hasn’t changed you a bit.” He retorted. To say these words were stinging would be an understatement. As I opened my mouth, I knew I would immediately regret what I said, “I wish you died instead of mom.” These words hit him like a wave. He stared at me for a full minute and then stormed off to his room closing the door with a bang. I don’t know what came over me. I guess I wanted to hurt him more than I was hurting. “Is this what you really wanted?” mom asked rhetorically and went upstairs. As I went into the room, expecting to see mom, wanting to explain to her that I made a mistake, I was greeted by nothing. I wondered if she is upset and this is the second-last time I am going to see her. I called out to her a few times, but the one time I want my mind to go crazy and hallucinate, it doesn’t. Frustrated, I get up to go fill the pitcher and I hear sounds from the other room. Sobbing sounds. Stifled cries growing in amplitude by the minute. As it went on to become full-blown crying, I started to open the door. But I stopped myself, with a nagging thought at the back of my mind. He is finally processing mom’s death, finally dropping all things to do the most important one. Mom leaving me prematurely, has forced me to be more mature. With that thought and closed lights behind dad’s door, I retreated to my room.

If the silence before was awkward, this was a notch higher. I had several missed moments, but I couldn’t bring myself to apologise. It is funny how easily you say the things you shouldn’t but need immense courage to say the things you should. These days were painfully lonely for me as well as my non-hallucinating, perfectly sound mind. After a lot of debate with my own reflection in the mirror, I came to the conclusion that only one thing could justify my apology and bring us closer- Our shared love for mom. I decided to try to make the pasta we loved a tad bit less than mom. As I dusted the pots and pans which the spiders had so lovingly called home, I heard shuffling of steps.

Dad was standing there, looking forlorn. I smiled a little and that seemed to set him off to cooking. Foraging for the vegetables, he asked, “Do you have the recipe?” Oh boy, small talk. I tried to shrug it off. “I do but I don’t think I will be able to pull it off.”, I said. “At least try. We owe it to her.” He comforted. With her mention, I let out a breath that I didn’t realise I was holding in for so long. “Dad, I miss her and I know you miss her more. I spend every waking minute punishing myself for the moments I spent arguing with her which could have been spent enjoying and making memories with her. I wish she wouldn’t have left us so soon, I wish for a few more moments with her. Dad, you’ve been hiding it, but I know you cry at nights. The pain is unfathomable apart but sharing it will dull the ache a little.”, I said. “I am so sorry, kiddo. Grieving due to her untimely demise, made me overlook that you had suffered a much greater loss. We both are hurting and we both need each other during this testing time. We were too stubborn to admit it before but we are coming to terms with it now.”, he explained. “I am sorry too, dad. I need you to help me try to take on things one day at a time. And enough of the emotional outpour, mom would have laughed at our faces and called us- ‘SUCKERS’”, I said and we shared a laugh. “How do you know?”, he questioned. “I just do”, I said with a smile. “Let’s honour her by remembering the beautiful moments that defined her impeccable and humble soul.” I said as we resumed with the pasta cooking. “You’re right. Remember the time, our dog, Peggy, ate her garden foliage when she wasn’t looking?”, dad chuckled. “Got it! Dad, you’re a genius!”, I exclaimed as I ran to the kitchen. I took some leaves, cut them and mixed them to the pasta base. I sent dad to the dining space for the big reveal and finished with some last touches.

“Bon Appetit!” I said as he took a mouthful. Suddenly, his face contorted into a smile. “This tastes exactly like your mother made it. I am so proud of you! How did you figure it out?” He asked. “I am her daughter”, I quipped never being surer. Tears brimming in his eyes he hugged me tight, first time in these months. I felt good for the first time in these months. As I took in the warmth of the hug, I opened my eyes to see my mother standing there, her beautiful eyes swimming in tears. “So, what was the secret ingredient?”, she asked curiously. “Love”, I said. “Dahl, do I look like a hipster to you? Love makes you feel like it tastes better, it doesn’t actually work.” She said annoyed. “I am kidding. Its thyme, the one you grew in the home garden.” I said confidently. She flashed a huge smile and said, “You will do just fine without me. Just know, I will always be there for you any-thyme! I love you!” Something in me changed, I knew I would never see her again but I was fine with it. As I let go of the hug, I whispered, “I love you!” and saw her disappear in the blink of an eye. “She’s gone.”, I realised out loud. “Oh kiddo, she might not be here but she will always look out for you”, dad quipped. “I know, dad. I know”, I said like I had experienced the realness of it all!