Pam aunty, my favourite silver lining
It’s hard to look at the brighter side of things when all that you’re surrounded by is different shades of dark. But that’s the thing about silver linings. They always manage to peep out of the darkness. And on many occasions, these silver linings are people around us; who despite all the darkness in their lives, still manage to spread light wherever they go.
After staying in a government accommodation for many years, my parents finally moved to their own house over a decade ago. It was then that I met Pam aunty, our neighbour. I still remember her running out of her house, barefoot, calling out for her son who seemed to have vanished. We were later told by another neighbour that her oldest son (then in his early teens), was a child with special needs and would wander out of the house if left unattended. We often heard insensitive adjectives being used for her son, sometimes even within her earshot, but she never reacted. While I always had a soft corner for Pam aunty, my parents made sure that her son never felt any different than any other kid.
One day, we heard Pam aunty calling out for her son and running towards the next lane. We rushed to her and realised that her son was missing and it had been a long time since he left home. A frantic search began and everyone was out looking for him. An hour later, their milkman arrived with her son. He had seen the milkman driving to the nearby village and had followed him. That was the only day when I saw fear and tears in Pam aunty’s eyes.
A few years ago, my mother slipped and fell in the bathroom. Realising that she had a deep gash on her head, she dialed Pam aunty’s number instead of my father’s in panic. Pam aunty came rushing to our home only to realise that the main gate was bolted from the inside. She climbed over the gate, went inside the house, bandaged my mother’s head and called my father. When I rushed home, she helped my mother into the car so we could take her to the hospital and thrust money into my hand while whispering, “Keep it, you might need more than you’re carrying.”
Over the years, Pam aunty has become one of my closest confidants and we often sit and talk about her son. She worries about him, but never once have I heard her complain about anything in her life even though there are days when she has driven to the doctor to get painkiller shots for acute stomachache. I remember just one occasion when she made an effort to dress up for a social gathering. Later, I showed her a picture of a television actress and told her how she resembled her.
Just as no two people are same; their grief also cannot be alike. Grief has stages, shades and degrees and everyone chooses to deal with it differently. But one person’s grief can at times make someone look at their own pain differently. On days when I fail to see the silver lining, I see Pam aunty and her son. And slowly but firmly, the light creeps through the cracks of my darkness and brightens my life.
JUST AS NO TWO PEOPLE ARE SAME; THEIR GRIEF ALSO CANNOT BE ALIKE. GRIEF HAS STAGES, SHADES AND DEGREES AND EVERYONE CHOOSES TO DEAL WITH IT DIFFERENTLY