Family and friends are already pottering about in my home when we return from dressing our little boy. I head straight upstairs to my bedroom to get away from them all. They are preparing for his home coming downstairs. The elders of the family are showing 15 month old big sister Rakhi how to draw a swastika (a sacred symbol in Hinduism) with red kumkum (a powder used for social and religious markings) and place rice onto a white cloth draping the low coffee table, handmade by his Nana, where his coffin will be placed. Although these people are my closest and dearest loved ones, I feel so distant from them all. I want them all to leave and stop making such a fuss over this moment. I want to be left alone!

I reluctantly go downstairs when I am called down by my Mum – I have a visitor, a cousin sister, she is on her way to work. She has taken the time from her busy morning to come and give her condolences and apology for not being able to attend the funeral. We are stood at the bottom of the stairs, she hands over to me a pretty bunch of flowers, I hesitantly take them from her hands. She then embraces me tightly- the reality of the day sinks in at this point. Although We are not so close, at this moment in time I feel like she is the only one in the entire world closest to me. The hug gives me the strength I need to be ready to face this difficult day ahead of me…(Thank You Sangeeta Garara x)

Despite the little light of strength I feel from the tight sisterly hug, I don’t want to stay downstairs. I don’t want to have to make conversation with anyone else. I have a quick glance into my living room as I go back up the stairs. I see people who I recognise but don’t want there. I wonder, how many of these people would have taken the time to visit my son had he been alive…I feel mixed emotions of anger and annoyance. Those family and friends who I did want there, and more importantly should have been there, have been kept away, because it was supposed to be a small private family affair, but turns out to be quite the opposite! this angers me even further. I am back in my bedroom looking out of the window, pacing… Where is my son? It’s time now. I keep my eyes fixed out of the window as time drawers nearer. I can hear a houseful of family and friends gathered downstairs, so why do I feel so alone and so angry, that they are all gathered in this manner in my home? in my space! I feel like screaming at them all, they are making so much noise, or at least it seems that way to me. My soul is in desperate need of alone, quiet time… I want to tell them all to leave us alone…but I don’t, instead I keep a look out of the bedroom window for my son, with silent tears rolling down my face.

I see family men stood outside my home. Suresh is functioning and able to hold conversations with them all. I wonder what he is thinking, how he is feeling and how he is able to function, while I feel paralysed and seem to be falling apart. I feel like we haven’t spoken to eachother properly in days. I feel detached from him and everyone else in my life, including my little doll Rakhi. I have been totally dysfunctional since my baby died, I’m unable to care for my own wellbeing or that of my family, fortunately, my Mum is staying with us and caring for Rakhi… well, caring for us all really…(Thank You Mum x). However, also at this point I would like to share, I was later made aware, it was my Father In Law who made this happen – He explained to my Mother In Law, it would be better for my Mum to stay with me and not for her to stay, as I would be be more comfortable around my Mum – he couldn’t have been more right on this one! (Thank You Father In Law and Thank You Mother In Law xx)

I wonder what my neighbours must be thinking, many have already left for work, they all knew I was expecting my second child, but didn’t know my son was born and home. Some may have seen the ambulance late night in the middle of the road 5 nights ago, but not been aware of the outcome.

Local school morning drop has been done. I can see some parents walking past the house and slowing down, to see why people are gathered outside the house. They soon realise when they see the blue and white teddy bear flower arrangement rested by the front door. I see curtains move slightly. Never did I imagine a funeral of my child taking place in my home… I feel sick in the pit of my stomach!

My heart skips a beat, as I see the black limousine (not a hearse – the funeral directors said a little baby coffin looks heartbreaking in a big adult size hearse) moving at a snail pace down the road towards the house, I can feel the palpitations in my chest, as it comes to a gentle halt outside my home. Suresh takes out his sons little coffin from the back seat of the car and holds it in his arms. His brothers come to his aid as he steadies himself, but he insists he’s ok to carry his son himself. The thought which goes through my head is – no father should have to bear the weight of the coffin of his child…I wonder if his arms ache…they must do for sure, that must be a very heavy coffin for any father to hold…

I go downstairs without needing to be called and stand to one side, almost like I am a family friend attending the funeral, not the grieving mother. I am deliberately avoiding everyone’s gaze, which I feel is on me now because I have just made a grand entrance into the living room. I guess, everyone is expecting me to be sobbing in uncontrollable tears, not stood so composed with huge puffy red eyes. I wish I didn’t have to wear this awkward sari and could just be in my western clothes. I feel lost and vulnerable.

Not knowing quite where to look, I happen to fix my eyes on the people in front of me. I see a mother and daughter stood in tears. The daughters eyes catch mine, although we are a fair distant apart she is not afraid to look at me, maintain eye contact and give me a warm, gentle smile with a sad, sorry look in her eyes. I feel a strange sense of comfort that she is there. Her eyes are brimming with tears, in the tears I see the deep grief I feel inside. I feel like she understands my pain.(Thank You Jayshree Varsani x)

I have an uncle beside me – the only male right beside me amongst all the women! He is never afraid to stand beside me… I have no doubt he is reliving his own grief through this moment and remembering his son. Although he is saying something (words of comfort no doubt – telling me to be strong and not cry) I am not really listening, I am just grateful to have him and his “under the breath mumbling” which only I can hear beside me the moment Suresh walks into the front room with our son. (Thank You Naju Kaka x)

My sons coffin is placed onto the low coffee table prepared earlier by his sister Rakhi. As I am asked to come forward, I don’t resist and just do as I’m told. As I come forward, I notice my 80+ year old Nani in her red coat, staring at her great grandson, with a bewildered look on her face. I find out later from my Mum, my Nan too lost her baby son many years ago, soon after birth. He was her first born and would have been 4 years older than my Mum.

When I see my sons little face I feel comfort. He looks so different from how I remember he looked when he was first born. He is at peace to be back home…and I can see that. Someone is telling me what to do. A Hindu ritual is being followed but I don’t seem to be paying attention, instead I just go through all the motions. All I can see is my son. For a split moment, when Suresh and I are knelt down beside him, it really feels like it’s just the 3 of us in that room full of people.

I hear people crying and sniffling around me as his sister Rakhi places a soft, tiny blue rabbit she bought for him, while out shopping for his clothes with my family, beside him in his coffin. I am trying so hard to not break down, as I place the picture of our family beside my son in his coffin and recall how I decided on which picture he should take with him. We don’t have one of the four of us together after his birth. We do however have this one from Diwali Oct 2006 – I call it my ‘Richest Moment’ – At my childhood home, heavily pregnant in my pale yellow sari, beaming from ear to ear, sat on the sofa next to Suresh with our daughter Rakhi between us and our son safe in my tummy…things have never been quite the same ever since… Still to this day, I am not able to look at the picture, it is so well hidden from me, by myself, although probably I am the only one, who knows exactly where it is. The sari I wore that Diwali day hangs safe in the very back of my wardrobe, I neither have the strength to wear it, nor throw it away, every now and again I find myself wanting to touch it and hold it close to me…

It’s time to cover my sons face with a white cotton sheet which is handed to me. Suresh and I are talking to eachother quietly amongst all these people surrounding us, we are telling each other we don’t want to do this, we just want to see his little face a moment longer. I hear my Mother In Law crying behind me, someone is telling her to see her grandsons face for the last time. She isn’t able to… she is totally lost in her own grief…one that only a grandparent will understand.

Krishan is telling us he is ready…I am now ready, I don’t want him to wait another moment longer…It is now time. We, the parents are ready to cover his little face forever. I hear suresh quietly say “after 3” I sense him counting to 3 as I am doing in my head. As we cover his face, I hear a heartbreaking wail from behind me, it’s his Baa, who has realised she has missed the moment…she wants to see her grandsons face one more time. I firmly keep my hand over my sons face covered with the white sheet to stop anyone from disturbing him now. She attempts to move my hand to see him, I notice my grip on the cloth tightens and actually find the strength to say out loud “no, no more”…. I can feel his little cold button nose under my hand through the sheet…

We sit with our son on our lap in the back of the car all the way to Hendon Crematorium, with both his Nani and Baa sat quietly behind us. It’s a journey which seems to take forever but lost in thought one I don’t remember at all. As we arrive at the crematorium I see faces of more family and friends, a sight which pains me. I wish they were not there and I don’t have to get out of the car.

Inside I sit and watch, trying hard to listen, but I can’t seem to focus, as soft, gentle words are spoken to the family and friends who have gathered and filled the room. I have written so much but unable to speak. My sisters are my voice and read out loud a poem I have chosen – ‘In a baby’s castle’ (Thank you Kamu and Naina xx). Suresh is brave, he unfolds the piece of paper from his pocket I wrote on the night before and says our final words without a hitch. I am just sat watching, feeling numb, absorbed in my own tiny bubble…until suddenly, Suresh snaps me out of my inner turmoil and calls me up to the front (which was not planned) – he wants me beside him, when he is asked to press the switch. I didn’t even realise this moment was upon us. He wants us both to do this together – I guess it’s back to the ‘covering our sons face’ moment – unspoken understanding between us both, counting to 3 in our heads as we press the switch in sync. and watch our son go… I want to cover my face and hide away from the world, so I do…I close my eyes, hide my face behind Suresh, away from all those in the room watching us. I break down and allow uncontrollable tears to flow freely from my eyes I had held back all morning. I cover my face with both hands, as I am now self conscious of the very loud, noisy, wounded crying from deep within me, which I can’t seem to be able to control. He holds me up, as my legs feel like they are giving way beneath me and walks me out of the room. He leads me to the back room for the private family farewell. (Thank You Suresh x)

Back outside my Mum is concerned for my wellbeing, I guess any mother would be for her daughter, who has only just given birth and should be at home resting with her baby warm in her arms, not out here in a crematorium, having just cremated her son on a cold November morning! She insists everyone to greet quickly, by shake of the hand and not prolong with hugs, as it will only upset me more… I am told what to do, where to stand. I feel like a puppet on show….I’m going through the motions of meeting and greeting all family and friends who attended. I don’t look up, I have no desire to, I am overcome with exhaustion. I see all their feet and wonder who each one belongs to, as I keep my hands out in front of me for friends and family to hold and greet. The line of family and friends seems never ending…I feel cold. I pause in thought for a moment when I see crutches, she breaks the rule of greeting and hugs me tight, I know exactly who that friendly hug is from without needing to look up and today is the only greet and hug I remember from that whole line of people. (Thank You Ella Garara x)

I don’t remember anymore from this day, apart from the fact I feel exhausted… I go back home and carry on with life…where I have his beautiful memories, which I don’t doubt, will be more than enough love to get me through my lifetime…

I strongly feel, certain things should have been done very differently that day. How I wish I’d had the strength needed back then to stick with my decision, during a conversation which took place days before, while deciding the how and what of the day and push back with a ‘firm, non negotiable No!’ to those who shouldn’t have pushed their want over a grieving mother’s need.

Today, is Krishan’s birthday…Can’t even begin to imagine how my son would look now aged 11…the image in front of my eyes will always be of him as my little baby. I share with you all, probably my all time favourite picture of him from the very few that we have of him, sleeping soundly soon after he was born, I see my Dad in him…particularly in this picture, that’s also how I remember Rakhi looked, when she was born, and then how Aisha looked when 1st born…all three of them, like their Nana…Sleep tight my gorgeous little man… miss you so much…only a grieving parent would understand how much…

…Thank You for taking the time to read my extra long post from your busy day. Please accept my apology if I have offended or upset any of you by my very blunt post, expressing the raw grief I felt on the day. It has ONLY taken me 4 months to put this together! 🙈. Some days thinking and writing for many hours, other days tweaking the odd word or paragraph for a few minutes, but either way, allowing myself to free flow with my thoughts and emotions. I never quite know how the final version will read, until the final day itself. Writing like this, is my coping mechanism, leading up to these few days in November, when I am reminded how little control I actually have over certain moments in my life. Once again, I am forced to slow right down and come to a complete standstill, allowing the silence to surround me, like it did 11 years ago.

Writing and posting this has allowed me to acknowledge and remember my son, who is a great, big part of my life. It’s not very often I get to talk about him, any grieving parent might agree it’s the one thing they most like to do… talk endlessly about their son or daughter who in the eyes of the world might be no more, but to the parent is there with them everyday in every way. Regardless of what stage in life they died – early pregnancy, late pregnancy, early days of life, as a child, in their prime or as a grown adult, the pain is real and felt the same for every grieving parent and their families. Don’t be afraid to bring up their name and acknowledge them to the parents and their loved ones. Take the time to ask about them, especially on days when you think they might be missing them really bad, yes they might get tearful, but will grab the opportunity to remember their precious child and share their memories with you.

Sharing with you all, my inner most thoughts from this one day, which changed my path in life and me as a person forever, leaves me feeling free and content…(Thank You x)

B

xx