I Was … Delayed

Today is the second anniversary since Saumya’s traumatic brain injury (TBI). Two years ago she received an accidental bump to the head causing damage to the left side of her noggin. You may have noticed a lapse in regularity and frequency of my writing. I’m sorry, it’s not you; it’s me.

It has been a challenging two years. Not only has it had its share of health issues for us to deal with: constant migraines, nausea, seizures (thank God they’re over), various sensitivities, countless hospital visits, on and on; but it has changed the course of our lives. During that week two years ago in 2013 Saum was filling out her paperwork to Harvard Divinity School for a PhD program. We were to move to Boston this summer. Those plans are now scuttled. In the last two years we have: been out see to one movie, had two outings with our group of friends, been on one trip involving an airplane that didn’t go well and she’s been to restaurants maybe twice. My only regret: we were getting to know some new family in the Twin Cities which I haven’t seen much of since. But this has been more of a challenge for her as I have not had many of these restrictions.

Two Songs for Saumya

Saumya

People keep asking me how I’m doing dealing with my concussed wife. Thank you very much. I’m doing fine myself, really. Gone is the anger of the past, anger at the disease of Endo, which is particularly hard to deal with. Pain is tough, and it wears a person down, the person going through it and those around them.

That’s not to say it’s all love and roses. It is extremely difficult to see the woman I love, going through one of the most difficult times of her life: when her brain checks out. With that, I have two songs that help me cope: The Afghan Whigs: The Slide Song and The National: About Today. Both are likely about break ups or more specifically drifting apart, neither of which we are going through, but the distance is real. When Saum checks out, when the headache gets bad and confusion and amnesia set in, we are distant. I reach for her, I hold her – I love her, but she’s just – gone!

Missing The Point: White Privilege Part 1

I was deeply saddened and angry by the Sikh Gurdwara (temple) shooting. I wrote the post I Wear a Kara in its wake. In the discussion that followed I understood that I didn’t quite fully achieve what I was hoping to.

How did I go astray? I focused time and energy on how Sikh’s are different than Muslims, instead of focusing on the real problems: racism, hatred and misunderstanding. In my own case, I was stifled by my own blind spot: white privilege.

Twitter user @sikhknowledge sums it up for me

I spent time in my post on how Sikh’s are different. I never should have gone there. I’d like to say we’re all the same: people, families, trying to survive, trying to pray, celebrate life. I want everyone to be treated as equals to the point that I force myself to believe we are all equals – even though we’re not.

I wish the world where a place where all men were treated the same; all women were treated the same as men; all religions were seen as paths of love and a celebration of life with one another: but the world is not that place. Sometimes I want it so bad I try to believe that all men are equal (and all the rest above): but then I get my white privilege blind spot. The world is not an equal place. Further, I’m in the top dominant, privileged position.

The Uninvited Guest

There’s been a lapse in posts. Now has not been a good time at home. When this happens, we attempt to focus our energies where they are needed. Sometimes the writing has to wait.

The trouble began while traveling in India in 2001-02. There was something wrong with Saum, my wife. During the holidays she wasn’t well. We both assumed she was sick, there are a number of strange foreign illnesses you can easily pick up there.

It cleared up in time for our magical journey to Gwalior and Jhansi. The magic being, for the first time in India, Saum and I traveled solo. We lavished in Indian luxury; spent time alone, reconnecting as only time away from everything on a vacation can bring.

I left for home, she stayed. Before either of us could prepare the real trouble started.

There Is No Hell

This is one of the many ideas that struck me during my couche (initiation). There is no Hell. I began rolling it around in my mind. It wouldn’t leave me. It seems to be the culmination of my philosophy that started back in college years ago.

Growing up Catholic, I was taught very early about sin and Hell: the place where I would go if I didn’t believe, if my sins were too bad, if they weren’t forgiven. It‘s a place of eternal torment: a place of fire, brimstone and suffering. It is a place that’s cold, a deep abyss. It has a ruler: the devil Lucifer, the bringer of light, the angel cast out of Heaven for challenging God. He goes by other names: Satan, the serpent. You may have heard of him.

There are the chosen people, the people of Israel. There are literal tribes of Judaism, and there are other religious people: the Christians, the people of Islam. They interpret themselves as chosen by God and with proper actions deemed worthy go to Heaven, others unworthy will go to Hell.

An Unexpected Connection

I will be getting back to my regular blogging soon, but something unexpected came up and it’s been occupying my thoughts.

When I was born, I was adopted. I came into the hospital with one set of parents and left with another. I was told at a very young age, as soon as I could understand. I’ve been pretty open about it with friends because it’s never been a negative in my life, a lesson I learned from my parents. My family is rooted as mine as much as anyone who is not adopted. I’ve always felt it reciprocated by my parents and siblings alike. I was a wanted child.

During the funeral of my grandmother in May, my mother quite unexpectedly started volunteering information about my birth parents. It was quite unprompted on my part; I believe the death of her mother was the catalyst. After a few weeks I decided to email her for the information so I would have a record. I sat on it and considered what to do. Is it right to contact someone who carried you and gave you up 42 years ago? What if reaching out is painful or opens old wounds? What if it’s better not knowing? What if they’re bad people? What if …. Many questions rolled around in my head as I considered what to do.

The Woman That I Love

Saumya you turn 40 today. I celebrated your 30^th birthday by writing something for you. I didn’t know you on your 20^th or your 10^th, but I plan to write you a piece, wholly dedicated to you for each passing decade. I write this for you.

A Krishna Kind of Love

I know a couple where it’s often said they have a Krishna and Radha relationship. They exemplify romantic love. It has the makings of a storybook fantasy. A young girl falls deeply in love with the man of her dreams; he falls in love with her. They get married – an arranged marriage actually – it’s a smart match.

Krishna was a rake.