I lost my Dadi last year on the 5th of September, which was also the 6th of Ramadan according to the Islamic Hijri Calendar.
I still dream of her.
I still like to pretend she didn’t ever exist.
And I’d rather never ever talk of her.
Or write. But this is the only dignified way I can grieve.
Recently, I’ve been addicted to Desperate Housewives. Finished watching Season 4 and now onto Season 5. The poem Mrs. McClusky recites for Aida, before they sprinkle the latter’s ashes, touched my heart.
Upon reading the master piece over and over, I felt it fits this old woman who was always vibrant and alive and who left us forever.
Dadi, this is for you.
“Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.”
Mary Elizabeth Frye – 1932
