A Cord of Multi-Strands is Not Quickly Broken and Other Lessons from Mourning for My Mother
My mom passed away two weeks ago. I’m trying to capture my grief journey, mainly for personal reflection. Many of my friends helped me get through these days, and I realized that many go through the same valley of sorrow. So, if these posts help anyone else, that’s a bonus. Here are some of the lessons I’ve learned in these two weeks.
A Cord of Multi-Strands is Not Quickly Broken
This has been my biggest lesson. We were shattered when we heard about her passing. She had asthma her whole life but no other crippling diseases. She wasn’t bedridden. She was still walking days before she died. At 75, her death was both unexpected and shocking. We coped thanks to the support of many people.
Our maid rushed to our home immediately after my mom died. She called an ambulance to take my mother to the hospital. She and her husband even traveled with us to Tuticorin when we transported my mother’s body from Bangalore. Their presence at the funeral brought us comfort.
My cousins helped us plan everything for the grave and the church. They picked the right spot for the grave and prepared it. They handled all the church arrangements, like speaking with the priest and organizing the mass.
A family friend took care of every arrangement at our house. Before the body arrived, he cleaned the house and ordered meals, tea, and water bottles, ensuring we were cared for during our time of sorrow.
After I returned to work, friends and colleagues continued to check on me and listen. I talked about my mom and what she meant to me more than once, and they listened intently. Their listening has helped me deal with this sorrow calmly. It’s like a multi-strand cord, withstanding stress and tension. These friends and family members prevent me from being overwhelmed by emotions.
You can’t develop these strands overnight. Our maid had been with us for three years, becoming part of our family during festivals and events, even leading some traditions we had forgotten. Her closeness to my mother made her feel compelled to attend the funeral. The friendships that have supported me didn’t happen overnight; they took time and effort to build before they were needed.
Do Everything to Reduce Future Regrets
Another lesson I’ve learned is to do everything to minimize future regrets. Jeff Bezos has a “regret minimization framework” that he applies to entrepreneurship and startups, but I applied that framework to my life. You don’t have to wait for a eulogy to say nice things or express gratitude. Over the last three years, we’ve celebrated a lot as a family. Even though it cost me a lot, I flew my family to see her often. Looking back, I don’t regret a thing. I’m glad I did all those things. Derek Sivers has a post called “Stay in Touch with Hundreds of People,” and I’ve followed that advice. I keep in touch with my friends through phone calls, WhatsApp, Zoom chats, or personal visits whenever possible.
Mourn Well, Mourn Deeply and Privately
To mourn well, you have to mourn deeply and privately. As soon as I heard my mom had passed away, I deleted Twitter and LinkedIn from my phone. For almost 10 days, I didn’t post anything on WhatsApp (though I had to use it to coordinate things). This allowed me to grieve without doom-scrolling as a distraction. I mourned alone and with family, which helped me accept her absence from our lives. Because I allowed myself to grieve deeply and privately, I was able to handle everything emotionally without breaking down.
The Power of Tradition
Tradition is powerful. I’ve always been anti-tradition. I dropped caste from my name, got married in a registrar’s office (even though it was an arranged marriage), named my boys after their mother, and homeschool them. Even so, I saw the power of tradition during my mother’s last journey. Her ex-colleagues, former students, and neighbors attended the church mass to share their memories and stayed until we buried her. We also had traditional third- and fifth-day gatherings with close family. I’m glad I participated in these traditions; they provided a graceful and dignified farewell.
The Bible Brings Comfort
The Bible has been a source of comfort during difficult times. Every day we had family prayer time and never missed Sunday mass or special church events, but I never really read the Bible until I was 18. In the last decade, I’ve delved deeper into its pages, finding comfort and guidance. Whenever I’m facing a problem, verses come to my mind like a gentle whisper, offering the right perspective. As I knelt and prayed after hearing of my mother’s passing, Psalm 75:2 came to me, talking about an appointed time. I was crying out to God—”Why now? Isn’t 75 still a young age?” As tears flowed and I had more questions, a peace came over me—one I cannot explain but felt deeply.
Gratitude in Grief
Through this difficult time, I’ve realized how lucky I am. I know it sounds strange, but it’s true. I’ve been able to visit my family frequently over the past few years. It wasn’t cheap, but we made it work. My wife and brother-in-law have woven themselves seamlessly into our family fabric, creating a strong support system. We lift each other when we’re feeling low, and for that, I’m immensely grateful.
No Closure, Only Acceptance
It’s not over, and it will never be over. Two weeks after she passed, I miss her more than ever. Some mornings, I wake up thinking about all the sweet memories I have with her—walking with her as a five-year-old along railway tracks to catch the bus to her school, reciting class lessons on the way; taking her to Goa, where she exclaimed about the live dosa counter and enjoyed not having to cook for five days; holding my first son with a triumphant smile only an Indian mother can have; and, towards the end of her life, asking me repeatedly if I got a promotion or pay raise, saying she was praying for it. There are so many memories. She was a remarkable role model, and her memory will live on in my heart. There’s no closure—only acceptance of this new reality.
It’s never easy to close a chapter. It’s hard to deal with loss, especially when it’s your mother, who poured her heart, soul, and energy into you. I cope by writing morning pages and sharing a few of them. It’s my way of healing.
