Tag: baby

(5/6) The Boy That’s Mine

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I walked into my house and there he was. Curled up on the couch. So fragile, I thought I’d break him if I picked him up. We’d told our dad one week. “We’re just fostering him. He’ll go when he finds a good home. We promise.” We knew it was a lie before we’d even said it. My sister sent me a picture while I was wrapping up school work in Singapore and I knew I’d never let him go.

He was almost two months old. He weighed less than 2kgs. The first night he was home, mom complained the morning after – “He walks all over me. He wouldn’t sleep. He jumped on my chest and I thought I couldn’t breathe. Are we sure?”

It’s been four and half years. He weighs a little over 11kgs. He still doesn’t sleep full nights. He climbed on her chest last night. She screamed with pain but then pulled him closer and kissed him on the forehead. We all know the words she wouldn’t say. “I hope these moments never stop happening.”

Because the saddest thing about having a furry family member? Their lifespan is almost always shorter than yours and my furry child has hit his half-way point. But if someone asked me if I’d have it any other way, I’d tell them – I CAN’T EVEN IMAGINE IT.

Dala.

My mom named him before I got home. I always find myself explaining, “His name’s Dala. He’s a boy. I know his name’s girly. My mom named him.” If you thought you know what unconditional love feels like before a dog, you have no idea what’s in store for you after.

My dance partner, my shoulder, my supporter – I scream-sing with a ridiculously fake Italian accent and he still loves me, still sits by my side, still sticks himself to my back as I sleep. I’ve always been that girl who couldn’t sleep with someone else on the bed. It’s a struggle to sleep if he’s not next to me. It’s a struggle to live if he’s not next to me.

Dala came into my life a few months before my life crashed and burned. I’ve always said it – If he didn’t exist, I doubt I would have. When nobody understood my pain, when words weren’t enough to talk about it, when death seemed like the ideal solution, when tears would flow with no end – Dala would be there, not once leaving my side. If I’m crying, he’d jump up to sit on my lap. There would be no words of encouragement, no hands to wipe tears, no hugs or kisses but there would be calm. Someone was there. With the kind of love I never realised was possible. A loyalty that I’d never known.

I feel the back of my eyes sting as I write these words. Because I know I can’t keep him with me forever. Nothing good ever lasts. When I started university again, my biggest struggle was not feeling his warmth at my back.  Missing his tiny hands on my neck as if he’s holding me while asleep. I can’t imagine going back to a life where I might never feel it again and the fear is so real every time he falls ill, every time his girlfriend fights him, every time someone tells me their furry baby passed on.

I was the girl who ran scared of dogs. I still understand that fear. But I don’t understand the ones who hate them. When someone comes up to me and says, “Tie your dogs up so I can come home,” my first thought is Don’t come. It’s rude but.. It feels like asking to tie up a family member. It’s absurd.

We got another furry baby after the Chennai floods. Mika – Dala’s girlfriend. They couldn’t be more different if they tried. We constantly remind him how he’s so badass he’s living together with his girlfriend without marrying her. He probably has no idea what any of those words mean. But we still tell him things. We tell him how funny a video is. Ask him his opinion on what we’re wearing. Complain about boyfriends not texting back.

He only ever reacts to three words – Food. Walking. Sleep.

Priorities, I tell you.

But in some part of me, I believe he knows what I’m saying. Maybe not word for word. But the emotions behind it. He knows and he understands. In that odd intuitively loving manner that only my furry, four-legged, wide-eyed boy can. It’s why when I say something sad, he sits next to me.

Someday, I’ll sit in a corner and I’ll cry. The tiny things he does like walk on my earrings, eat Mika’s food or steal food from my plate won’t be the things I’ll miss the most. It won’t be his face, that hint of sadness as I wave bye while walking out the door, a feeling of guilt like I’m betraying him by not taking him with me – the face I remember the entire trip until I come back home.

The thing that will make me cry is the moment I open the door and he doesn’t come running to me. Filled with love. Like the ten minutes I was gone was actually ten years. His face in that moment.

My best friend. My baby.

My Dala.

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A Reason for Responsibility

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This has been a trying week to say the least. I’m not going to bore you with details but to put it in simple words, every outfit I’ve worn in the past seven days stinks of hospitals and Critical Care Units. I have come to the realization that within every family dynamic there is one brave human that thinks with logic when the others succumb to emotions. It isn’t always the oldest or the strongest. It can be the grandfather, the mother, the daughter, anyone really. In my family, fortunately/unfortunately, it is me.

I say unfortunately because the older I get, the bigger the problems get and it is very difficult to put on a brave face when my emotions are begging to be let out. I say fortunately because when I do cry, I’d like to be left alone without someone constantly nagging me, telling me everything will be ok and this way, I get to go home, shut my door and cry peacefully.

We have all been told at some point “Take some responsibility.” So many of us have sat through hours of story-telling where our parents or grandparents explain how ‘when they were our age’ they used to do so much and the kids these days ‘are always beeping on that thing’. While some smart people understand the reason behind those words the very first time it is said, people like me have to go through certain bad experiences to realize it.

Type the words “parents growing old” on Google images and you will see this quote in 8 of 10 pictures :

“Love and appreciate your parents. We are so busy growing up that we often forget, they are also growing old.”

The reason a parent asks you to be responsible or to do things around the house is not because they want you to learn to do your chores or because they want to make sure you’re doing something. It’s simply because their ability to do everything is slow fading away. What they really need is your help and they don’t want to put it in those words. When a parent asks for help, we tend to get a little worried about why they cannot do something and they want to avoid that. Because what they understand that we don’t is that – Life, it is a circle. What your mother or father did for you as a child is exactly what they end up needing eventually. They try to put it off for as long as they can and let you lead a normal life.

I never saw it that way. I always believed my mother was trying to train me so she can get me married. That she was simply trying to get me off of my computer. She hates that I’m always on the internet.  My father wants me to do some work or the other. He never lets me do what I want. Always at his beck and call. Oh, they just cannot let me sit down for just a few minutes ! – All they were doing is asking for help but never putting it in quite those words. The inability to accept what was once a piece of cake was now starting to become very difficult. The feeling of not wanting to say it out loud.

Though they do this for our well-being and for our emotions, a lot of bad tags along with it. Either we never learn the reason for us to be responsible or it comes and lands on us like a ton of bricks. We suddenly realize that they’re old. They can no longer drive all night, eat what they want and have fun like they used to. The time spent laughing away and lifting you on their shoulders is now time spent eating tablets and struggling to do simple tasks around the house.

I know it is not an easy realization but the sooner we understand this, the better it is. The last thing we want to be doing is to sit around years from now and wish that maybe we’d noticed sooner. Maybe we’d helped more. Maybe we’d fought less. Maybe we’d laughed more. Maybe we’d told them how much we love them. Maybe they could still be here..

To every parent, everywhere.

With gratefulness and love.