#9 After I lost my dad, I stopped doing the one thing we loved most. Here’s how I feel about it now.

What happens to the experiences we once shared with a loved one after they’re gone?

Oct 25, 2024

yellow and red pencil on brown wooden table — Photo by Sonika Agarwal on Unsplash

In today’s newsletter, I wanted to explore how our experience of the activities and events we once shared with a loved one changes forever after they’re gone. Can we ever go back to them, when they now feel so triggering?

I’d never thought about this until my dad died in 2019, and what was once a shared family experience died with him. The example I refer to in this piece is Garba, a form of Indian folk-dancing that is performed during the Hindu festival of Navratri, which occurs every year in September or October. It’s a big deal in the part of India where my family originates (a state called Gujarat), and it used to be my favourite time of year before Dad died.

In this piece, I reflect on whether it’s possible to renew our love for these experiences and rewrite the narrative, while holding space for the absence of the person with whom we once shared them. I also explore my identity as a second-generation immigrant, and what it means to hold onto my Indian heritage while remaining a proud Australian.

I’d love to hear from you! When you’re done reading, click the comment button below and let us know:

What’s something you once shared with a loved one that has changed since they passed? How have you coped with this? Have you been able to reclaim the experience to some extent?

Dear Dad,

We went to Garba earlier this month to celebrate Navratri. It’s the sixth one you’ve missed. It feels weird going without you; like an important piece of a puzzle is missing, leaving the rest incomplete. For a while after you died, I wondered if I would ever be able to enjoy it again — which is sad because Garba has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. This time of the year always held a special place in my heart.

From a very young age, I have distinct memories of going to the celebration hosted by our local Indian community here in Sydney every year, along with hundreds (sometimes thousands) of other Garba-enthusiasts. Even halfway across the world from where it originated, in our family’s home state of Gujarat, we went all out. The costumes were lavish, the music loud, the smorgasbord of Indian street food out-of-this-world, the energy positively electric. It was a vibrant expression of community spirit and cultural pride, through the power of coordinated traditional dance. Not to mention, a hell of a workout! Spinning round and round for hours in a giant human circle, snaking dizzingly around the perimeters of the hall, stopping only to hydrate and inhale the incredible food on offer. It truly was the most extraordinary multi-sensory phenomenon.

You LOVED Garba. Growing up, I was always in awe of how you and Mum would often be the first ones on the dance floor and the last ones standing at the end of the night. You would shamelessly brag about having way more energy and stamina than people half your age. I had never seen you more joyful and full of life.

My experience of Garba was so inextricably linked with you, that when you died, it felt like the magic of what had once meant so much to us had disappeared overnight. It felt wrong to dance and have fun when you no longer could. The acute awareness of your absence at an event we once shared as a family was too painful to bear. Without you, I had zero interest in going anymore.

23 Sep 2017. Almost 2 years after you were diagnosed. Our community dedicated this Garba to raise money for the state-wide association for Motor Neurone Disease, in your honour. It was an incredible event.

It was your grandchildren who brought me back to Garba. My desire for my kids to connect with their roots and the rich cultural tapestry from which they hail. Being a person of colour born and raised in a Western country, I grew up straddling two worlds. I am very familiar with the balancing act, the tug-of-war, between my Indian ethnicity and my Australian home. I’m not proud to admit this, but there have been times throughout my life when I have downplayed my South-Asian background, to fit in.

I don’t want that for my children. I don’t want them to feel as though they need to hide parts of who they are, in order to be seen and valued by others. As third-generation immigrants, their connection with their cultural heritage is already starting from a lower baseline. If we don’t nurture this connection, it has the potential to slip away.

If that happens, I realised it will also extend the disconnect between them and you. At times, this gap already feels almost unassailable, which breaks my heart. They don’t know you, and they never will. But taking them to Garba and involving them in this celebration we once shared with you, is a way to bridge the gap, just a little. It gives us an opportunity to talk about you, show them photos and videos, and share this side of you with them. The fun, energetic, life-of-the-party side. I guess, in a way, it makes you feel real to them and not just someone whose memory makes their Mummy randomly cry from time to time; who in their minds is probably otherwise associated with sickness, wheelchairs, sadness and death. I hope it helps them to create more positive associations of you and foster their connection with you.

I avoided going to one of the things I loved most for a long time after you died, because it was too triggering being there without you. In truth, it still is. Each round we dance, each time we spin, each candle we light, each arti we sing, each moment of this exhilarating and formative experience, we remember you, we miss you, we wish you were here smiling, dancing and celebrating with us.

But I went this year, and I will keep going, to pay homage to my cultural heritage; to instil this appreciation in my kids and future generations. And to strengthen your legacy, which burns bright to this day, by carrying forward a family tradition we once treasured with you.

Miss you every day, Dad. Love you always. Until next time 💌

Ruhie

I’d love to hear from you! Click the comment button below and let us know:

What’s something you once shared with a loved one that has changed since they passed? How have you coped with this? Have you been able to reclaim the experience to some extent?

Grieve Fully, Live Fully

Discussion about this post