Gratitude Friday 08 30 24 Shraaddha Barsy

 “Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.” ― William Shakespeare, Macbeth

In India (and Nepal), a death anniversary is known as shraddha (Shraaddha "श्राद्ध" in Nepali). The first death anniversary is called a barsy, from the word baras, meaning year in Hindi. This is my first-year observation of the loss of my father. Shraaddha means to give with devotion or to offer one's respect. Older cultures have ways of describing things in ways I find helpful and with greater depth of meaning, so hence the title. My mother died three decades ago. I am no longer in the sandwich era, a generation of our nuclear family has passed into history. My father had a full life of 90 years, with all the challenges, efforts and highlight reels of a robust life. He was the first to acknowledge that he had a good life, one in which travel, study, personal sacrifice, companionship and purpose held significance over the full course of his nine decades among us. May any of us who remain be so fortunate. I am not Hindu; and nor was he. My father had likely not ever heard the words shraaddha or barsy. I found them in the writing of this piece.

As many fathers and sons, we are very different people. We saw the world quite differently. This is in no small part because we lived in very different worlds. There is an old quote by Heraclitus from 2500 years ago that certainly stands the test of time. “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.” We were different men, we have walked in different rivers in different times, but we are bound by blood, nevertheless. One of the things my father and I did have in common was a commitment to integrity. I am my father’s son in this way. Our words, deeds and their consistency mean something to both of us. In this way, I am proud to be my father’s son.

In his later years, as his end drew nearer, he faced it with clear eyes and careful planning. As an engineer, he created a manual of his wishes that delineated what he and his dear Helen wanted in matters of their affairs. He asked me to follow through with his final wishes. I know why he did this. He knew I would do so to the best of my ability as I gave him my word I would. Commitments meant something to both of us. He saw that in me, and I knew it was something he attempted to model for me growing up. Honoring his wishes is part of my closure. I have honored his wishes.

At times I suspect we did not fully understand each other, which is a not uncommon father / son dynamic yet we loved each other. The asking of me to assist with settling his affairs was one of the ways he communicated how he saw me for who I am. It has been a hard year in respect to navigating the affairs of his estate for a myriad of reasons, some I could have anticipated and some beyond my anticipations. Such is the very nature of life.

On the one-year anniversary of the loss I offer my father Shraaddh, with devotion and respect of what he wanted after he was gone and when he could no longer steer the outcome of his affairs. I did what was asked of me to the best of my ability given the difficult events over the course of the year. Honoring his wishes and those of his dear Helen was the final thing I could do for him, as difficult is has been to do, with a great deal of support from her nephew Phil, who I now consider a brother from another mother and a member of my family constellation.

Readers, I hope you take an additional moment and read about his life and what his loss meant to me in those first weeks as I wrote about just under a year ago in a piece I titled The March of Time. As I wrote then:

“I define family in many ways. I have a biological family. I have a family I wed into. I have a recovery family and I have a community family. Years ago, as part of my formal education in graduate school, the program of Social Work I went through had a concentration on what they called family in environment. It taught that everything we do in this world is influenced by family, and everyone defines their own family. It is why my father considered students from Kenya as family, much as I have similar broad family groups beyond biological. I am grateful for my place in these families and for the march of time and the pure gift of life and the lottery win of living in yet another stage of life as time creeps onward. Whatever family is to you, cherish yours as you count it, in whatever way that is. I am grateful for my father, his legacy and all members of my family constellation.” 

Helen and my father invested in what they called their Kenyan family, supporting advanced education for many people. It was one of the myriads of ways they used their considerable talents. Generous almost to a fault with their resources. They embraced a family beyond the biological. I have a recovery family, and I understand how family can extend beyond brood. One year after your loss, Shraaddha Barsy, dad. You did your best and I am grateful. I did my best with your wishes. It is a thing I know you would draw some comfort from. 

For readers, I ask, what are you grateful for today?