139. I hate December 17th

A year ago, it was the day—yes, it was December 17—when the morning brought me a scathing shearing pain that multiplied a million times by the evening, and I carry the weight every day, every second of the day, and will carry it until my last breath.

That was the day I lost my wife. And my energy, hopes, plans, and future all died on that dreadful day.

The most sorrowful part is that each year, December 17th will arrive, making my life harder before vanishing for a year, only to come back with more painful memories I prefer not to think about.

Every day, I intentionally remember those wonderful days we shared when we were healthy, energetic, and lively. 

I never like to look at her photos from her time in the hospital, especially during her final year, when she looked pale and was in constant pain.

To me, memories mean days and nights filled with beauty, love, togetherness, and shared moments.

Recollections of past events—happy experiences—that can be passively called back to revive us.

When we say our vows and promise, “until death do us part,” we are mistaken and misled. 

I believe death results in a physical separation because marriage and the bond between a husband and wife unite two people as one. 

In Sanskrit, a wife is called Ardhangini – half of the husband’s personality in each aspect – indicating that an individual after marriage has two halves: a male and a female boxed into one persona. 

This means that if one half is no longer present, the other half is incomplete. It also means that even when we lose a wife, the special love within us persists and never fades. 

Keeping that love inside, even if it can't be expressed physically, helps us endure and find strength through her passing.

However, I can say that all these kind words and philosophical statements in practice cannot soothe your mind or relieve your pain. 

My wife was the idea person in our relationship. We sometimes argued, and I knew I couldn’t win because she was practical, so I kissed and made up.

 I heavily relied on my wife for everything. Now I long for her face, her touch, and her scent, as well as those irritating, recurrent missed calls from her I’d receive in the office. Still, I check my phone sometimes during the day, and my eyes well up with tears.

I miss her raised eyebrows, her angry look when I was late home, and her calling me a duffer sometimes.

 I miss her calls, her miscalls, and her presence in her favourite chair. That empty chair speaks volumes.

People often claim that time diminishes pain, but that's incorrect because it never actually does, and life can never revert to what it was.

 To me, there is no distinction between day and night, only hour after hour. Time has lost all significance, making life bitter.

 To those fortunate enough, I suggest never leaving her alone, even after an argument, as you never know how long you will be together.

 What else do I have for today?