I feel like I need to state the obvious every time I start a blog. Those who have followed my ramblings since the beginning of...well, this blog, know that the whole reason for starting it was to vent about how angry I was at life in a less "in your face" way than Facebook statuses. Life has been cruel, no doubt. The people who have known me over the years will attest to the rough rollercoaster ride that my parents and I have been on for more than a decade now. Nothing in these 11 years has hurt me deeper than the loss of my Rockstar though. As I've always said, losing Amar was hard - very hard. But in the end, Amar's passing was sudden. Rocky's was anything but. Rocky suffered for months. He battled hard to survive. He lived through indescribable pain. And in the end, he lost that battle and was taken away from us so cruelly. That loss - the loss of my baby brother, the true love of my life - left me shattered and at rock-bottom. I questioned everything that I once stood for. I questioned the faith that my parents had instilled in my brothers and I from the days that we were each born. When Rocky was battling, I prayed furiously. When Rocky was admitted to hospital and the c-word started coming up, I begged God to make the doctors wrong. When Rocky was diagnosed, I begged God to make it an "easy" cancer to fix. When they said Stage 4, I begged God to make him better. When Rocky underwent treatments, I begged God to make sure they were working. When it became evident that there were complications, I begged God to take me instead. When Rocky's health started declining, I even begged God to take him sooner than later so that he wouldn't have to suffer any more than he already had. I have struggled immensely with guilt - guilt for wanting to fast forward to see where we end up, knowing full well that fast-forwarding could mean losing Rocky sooner, guilt for asking God to end his suffering, knowing that it would mean Rocky losing his life, guilt for not being able to find some hidden cure deep in some corner of the Earth that would have miraculously eradicated disease from his body, guilt for not losing my mind or my life after his passing. I always told God I couldn't live without him, and yet here I am, still alive and kicking, and mostly healthy mentally (mostly). Does that mean that I didn't love Rocky as much as I said I did? There has been guilt for being able to do things and go places that Rocky never got a chance to. There has been guilt for living.
And with all this guilt, came hatred. I began by deciding there was no God. He could not exist. If He did exist, and He loved his children, then how could He impose such suffering on those children? How could he take away two of my parents' three children? All of our lives, my brothers and I passed the time with one another. Because the rest of our extended family was in India, we never had sleepovers with cousins. There were no weekend trips to grandma's. There were no summer reunions. It was always just the three of us - and we relied on one another.
As we got older, I used to tell my mom that I couldn't wait until we were all grown up and that it would be so much fun. I looked forward to our children getting the chance to enjoy all that we couldn't because we had no family nearby. I imagined summer barbecues with the kids playing and my brothers and I sitting around enjoying the day with our respective spouses. I imagined having my brothers' kids over to my place for sleepovers, watching movies and ordering pizzas. I imagined my own children being spoiled by their mama jis. I imagined everything that I had longed for as a child, everything that everyone else seemed to enjoy.
And there I was, on August 16, 2010, alone. Both siblings gone. All dreams shattered. How could there be a God?
They say time is the biggest healer. I didn't think so until recently. As I think back, I can't recall when I switched from not believing in the existence of God to just being mad at Him. And by mad I mean absolutely livid. Then as time went on, that "livid" turned into "mad" and "mad" turned into "whatever" and "whatever" turned into "meh" and over time "meh" has turned into "maybe."
Maybe there is a reason for all of this. Maybe there is a reason that everything worked out as it should. Maybe I am being selfish. Why do I want my brothers here? To fulfill my dreams? To outlive me? So I don't have to suffer? That's a bit harsh, no? I want my brothers here, knowing full well that they're in a better place, just so I don't have to live this life as it is. It's kind of an eye-opening epiphany that I've had over and over. I'll have it, then I'll forget, and I'll have it again. This is what Dory of Finding Nemo must have felt like. As of late though, I've been forgetting less.
It seems like just yesterday, on New Years Day 2013, I posted a status about having a really good feeling about 2013. In that post, I made reference to the story of Guru Nanak Dev Ji, the founder of Sikhism, and the time he worked in a shop and often lost himself at 13 when selling rations. The number 13 in Punjabi is pronounced "tera" which also means "yours" (ie. Yours, O God). Rather than proceeding to 14, he would simply repeat "tera, tera, tera" over and over. Sikhism's Ek Onkar is also shaped loosely as the number 13. Although I have become accustomed to being afraid of happiness, I had a very good feeling about 2013. We're 6 weeks shy of the end of the year now, and while there have been ups and downs over the year, in large part, it has been a tremendous year of growth for me. I have learned a lot about myself and have made significant strides in my mental and physical wellbeing. I have met wonderful new friends who have brought a great deal of positive energy to my life. I have made peace with the way some past relationships have gone. And I have been able to become more self-assured and have been able to eliminate a great deal of negativity from my life. While some of these changes haven't been well-received by some people (lol - they didn't make the negativity cut!), most have supported me wholeheartedly and have encouraged me to keep doing what I'm doing - in exactly those words. One of my favorite comments has been "if someone doesn't see how different you are, they must be blind." So yeah, all in all, 2013 has been a good year for me.
I've also been bombarded with people telling me that God exists and that He loves me, regardless of how I feel about Him. While I still have my questions, I am learning more and more each day that God does seem to have a plan. I have said it before, and I'll say it again: If it wasn't for Amar dying, I probably wouldn't have gotten married. If it wasn't for Rocky dying, I probably wouldn't have gotten divorced. But those boys did die, and I did get married, and in being married, I learned a lot. I learned about myself, I learned about those around me, and I learned about life, how short it is and what I want to make of it. While it hurts my heart to think that my brothers had to die for me to learn these lessons, I know that I wouldn't have learned them any other way. In that sense, I feel that living my life in a way that makes me happy is the greatest justice I can do to their memories.
My family lost Amar in 2002 - 500 people showed up to his funeral. We lost Rocky in 2010, and at his request, kept his funeral very small with only 20 people in attendance. His story however, has been told repeatedly to the congregation at the Guru Nanak Sikh Temple here in Surrey. In this way, his story has touched thousands. We lost my cousin Gagan in 2011. There were more than a 1,000 people at his funeral. Recently, our extended family lost a young man named Harry. His father told us that 500 cars showed up for a memorial car racing event in his name. The common theme here is how many lives these four young men touched in their short lives. We talked about this amongst ourselves and came to the conclusion that the shortest lives, touch the most lives. They leave the greatest impact on others. My brothers were very special, and I have no doubt in my mind that God took our finest for a reason. There is no doubt that they are in a better place and watching over my parents and I. I knew that on the days they each died. But as of late, I'm starting to be okay with it. I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that this happened, and although it hurts, it may be for the greater good. Perhaps they were needed elsewhere. Perhaps they were sent to teach me lessons that will reshape my life. Perhaps there is something greater planned for me and by taking them away, God is guiding me in the direction that I need to go.
I recently went to California and took a book for the flight. On the flight back earlier this week, I read more about how God works in ways that we may not always understand, and that there are miracles around us each day that point to His existence. The book talked about how everything happens to guide us to where we need to be, and to just trust the process. Once I finished the book mid-flight, I put it away and sat back and contemplated what I had just read, and thought about everything else that has happened over the last few years.
Through it all, it seems that Guru Nanak has played a significant role in my life. There is the "baba ji" that helped my parents and I through Rocky's passing who has devoted himself to the teachings of Guru Nanak. There is the congregation at Guru Nanak Sikh Temple that has repeatedly heard Rocky's story. There is the year 2013, with its reference to Guru Nanak, that has changed the course of my life. When we got back home, I told my mom that I wanted to start going to the gurdwara again. Of course she supported that decision - she's been waiting a while for it. So we decided that every Sunday, we'll set a time, and we will go to the gurdwara together. The first Sunday is today, and wouldn't you know it - it is Gurpurab. The day of the birth of Guru Nanak.
As I sit here now, typing this latest post, listening to celebratory fireworks being set off outside, I feel that I have just had a full-circle moment. All of a sudden, everything feels right. Everything is headed where it needs to be, in the manner it was meant to be. I will never stop missing my brothers and mourning all that could have been, but I will try not to mourn what is either. Anyone who dies never goes alone - they take a piece of their loved ones with them. Amar and Rocky each took with them a piece of my heart, and at the same time, reside forever in my own heart. We'll always be together. They are my angels, guiding me to a life that I am meant to live. A life that they would be proud of. <3 <3
And baba ji, I'm still a little bit miffed at you, but I think we might be able to be friends again. <3
