Dear Dayani,
You would have been 12 weeks old today. It is the 11th Sunday since I last held you in my arms, since I last kissed your forehead. It hurts to remember but I must lest I forget.
I read yesterday that in the face of difficulties, instead of whining asking "why is this happening to me?" that one should ask this question thoughtfully in order to see the illuminating lessons. So what are my lessons Dayani?
I don't think I have the full inventory of everything that you came to teach me, yet but I am going to take a stab at one today because it is so obvious. It is after all your name, Dayani, which means Compassion.
I believe my soul wanted to understand Compassion and I believe your soul came to teach. I know I needed to learn this lesson long before you were born. I have always felt a tug in my heart every time I see or read about an injustice or tragedy in this world. Since a young age, I used to move to tears when I see people's unfortunate circumstances, be it our own family or relatives or strangers. I have always been charitable in my own way, though I realize now that this charitable part has more to do with proving that I am a good person than about alleviating others' pain.
When I saw the word Dayani in one of those ubiquitous baby names websites (I can't remember now which one) I felt a vibration in my heart, and I knew I wanted it to be your name. But I was not quite sure it would happen because the word is a part of my middle name and there is a bad superstition around naming a baby after a parent or a living person. Your Appa did not like the way the first three letters sound and he worried that kids would make fun of you in school. Oh the irony! Your Appa and I had another name in our list, but upon seeing you for the first time and holding you in my arms after the neonatalogist managed to intubate you, we knew that Dayani belongs to you.
So there you were teaching me a lesson that cannot be taught through words, but instead must be felt. For one whole week I was surrounded by your name, your energy. To know Compassion, one must experience it and be on the receiving end of one. I understand now that you had to come the way you were in order to teach me this very important lesson. You brought all the people that could do all the talking and moving for you, who bestowed upon me Compassion with their words, wisdom and presence. All the nurses, doctors, people in the grief support groups, friends, family... All these people did and still do their job for you. I understand now that compassion cannot be taught or dictated to another person even in a lifetime. So there you were, as you were - not moving, not talking, but teaching.
Oh what a lesson it was, is. It will take me a the rest of my life to understand your name. A Buddhist proverb says "When a student is ready, the teacher will appear". So I must have been ready to take the course because you came, my teacher. You had to pick the fatal syndrome that you had because you know you were not going to stay long and you did not want me to run around to look for cure which could hinder the learning time. You hid the severity of it all while you were in my womb, so you could stay long enough to come out to this world to make memories with your Appa, Ishan and others and touch their lives too. You are among the very important teachers I have in this life time, and I am eternally grateful.
I await the day I hold you in my arms again, to kiss your forehead again. Until then I am going to live. I will hold Ishan and kiss his forehead with the intention and hope that you feel it too...
With all my love, always,
Your mom
Ps: Last night, we were all in the car going to the mall so Ishan can ride the choo choo train. Ishan sat in the back seat with Taatha and Aachi and he was playing with a couple of scrubs that he got from the hospital, when he last visited you there. Appa then asked him where he got the scrubs from and and whom he was visiting at the hospital, obviously alluding to you. Prior to this conversation, Ishan had declared that he was happy (because we were taking him to ride the train). But after the Q&A with Appa, he said "Now I am sad". I asked him why and he said "because I want Dayani".
You would have been 12 weeks old today. It is the 11th Sunday since I last held you in my arms, since I last kissed your forehead. It hurts to remember but I must lest I forget.
I read yesterday that in the face of difficulties, instead of whining asking "why is this happening to me?" that one should ask this question thoughtfully in order to see the illuminating lessons. So what are my lessons Dayani?
I don't think I have the full inventory of everything that you came to teach me, yet but I am going to take a stab at one today because it is so obvious. It is after all your name, Dayani, which means Compassion.
I believe my soul wanted to understand Compassion and I believe your soul came to teach. I know I needed to learn this lesson long before you were born. I have always felt a tug in my heart every time I see or read about an injustice or tragedy in this world. Since a young age, I used to move to tears when I see people's unfortunate circumstances, be it our own family or relatives or strangers. I have always been charitable in my own way, though I realize now that this charitable part has more to do with proving that I am a good person than about alleviating others' pain.
When I saw the word Dayani in one of those ubiquitous baby names websites (I can't remember now which one) I felt a vibration in my heart, and I knew I wanted it to be your name. But I was not quite sure it would happen because the word is a part of my middle name and there is a bad superstition around naming a baby after a parent or a living person. Your Appa did not like the way the first three letters sound and he worried that kids would make fun of you in school. Oh the irony! Your Appa and I had another name in our list, but upon seeing you for the first time and holding you in my arms after the neonatalogist managed to intubate you, we knew that Dayani belongs to you.
So there you were teaching me a lesson that cannot be taught through words, but instead must be felt. For one whole week I was surrounded by your name, your energy. To know Compassion, one must experience it and be on the receiving end of one. I understand now that you had to come the way you were in order to teach me this very important lesson. You brought all the people that could do all the talking and moving for you, who bestowed upon me Compassion with their words, wisdom and presence. All the nurses, doctors, people in the grief support groups, friends, family... All these people did and still do their job for you. I understand now that compassion cannot be taught or dictated to another person even in a lifetime. So there you were, as you were - not moving, not talking, but teaching.
Oh what a lesson it was, is. It will take me a the rest of my life to understand your name. A Buddhist proverb says "When a student is ready, the teacher will appear". So I must have been ready to take the course because you came, my teacher. You had to pick the fatal syndrome that you had because you know you were not going to stay long and you did not want me to run around to look for cure which could hinder the learning time. You hid the severity of it all while you were in my womb, so you could stay long enough to come out to this world to make memories with your Appa, Ishan and others and touch their lives too. You are among the very important teachers I have in this life time, and I am eternally grateful.
I await the day I hold you in my arms again, to kiss your forehead again. Until then I am going to live. I will hold Ishan and kiss his forehead with the intention and hope that you feel it too...
With all my love, always,
Your mom
Ps: Last night, we were all in the car going to the mall so Ishan can ride the choo choo train. Ishan sat in the back seat with Taatha and Aachi and he was playing with a couple of scrubs that he got from the hospital, when he last visited you there. Appa then asked him where he got the scrubs from and and whom he was visiting at the hospital, obviously alluding to you. Prior to this conversation, Ishan had declared that he was happy (because we were taking him to ride the train). But after the Q&A with Appa, he said "Now I am sad". I asked him why and he said "because I want Dayani".
Pps: Today Appa, Ishan and I went to Sunset Beach in Tarpon Springs. It was the first time we've gone to a beach since we scattered your ashes at Fort De Soto beach back in December. It was in my list of to do before returning to work next week.
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