I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear Josh,

I don’t know if you’re going to be upset with me for writing this. But I frequently imagine what you would say about a lot of things. And most of the time, I think you would say, “write whatever you’d like to Mum”. Like what I say to Shalini and Jess.

“Anger” was an unwelcomed visitor that took permanent residence in our home many years ago. I try not to talk about Dad too much, because these posts are a tribute to you. But there is no running away from the fact that our family was deeply affected by a lot of Dad’s difficulties, mainly with his temper. During a lot of your early years, being afraid of Dad getting angry was a daily task. You perhaps, copped it the most, sometimes even being physically affected. Jess and I knew when to retract. You, on the other hand, would sometimes challenge him, and this became worse as you got older. I would still like to think it was initially a happy, wholesome household. It was the intermittent, angry outbursts that would eventually crush us all.

Over the years, and after we no longer had to deal with Dad’s tantrums, “anger” slowly migrated to you. We all had to frequently walk on eggshells, afraid to upset you. This unfortunately happened a lot, especially in the earlier years of your teens. Though the angry outbursts were rarely like Dad’s. Your last trip to London was probably the longest and angriest we had seen you. That’s for another post. But it took weeks for you to eventually calm down, with the help of medication and therapy. You didn’t talk to us for weeks.

In the 24 months that followed, you hardly had any major outbursts. You somehow managed to get control over any angry episodes. And though we could mostly tell when you actually were angry or upset, you tried your best to stay away from us, preventing any ugly exchanges. But perhaps, this is part of the intense misery you sometimes had to deal with. And made things even worse for you. Like Jess said, if you had taken it out on us, would you still be with us?

Since your departure to heaven, anger has migrated yet again. It has migrated to us.

I recall when Aunty V organised a simple dinner with Aunty K and me just a couple of weeks after you died, and asked us to write the first word that came to our mind, Aunty K wrote “angry”. No matter how much we try to be at peace with this, we are angry.

I am angry that it was you that was affected. 

I am angry that it was our family that was picked. 

I am angry for all your friends (and mine) that had to suffer this loss, and have had to slowly help us pick up the pieces. 

I am angry with God or the universe- but that’s again, for another post, one I am still mustering the courage to write. 

I am angry that medicine did not have a cure for BPD. 

I am angry with those who should have been there for us, but failed to do so.

I am angry with Dad, who has so much to answer for.

I am angry that your grandparents had to live to see this.

I am angry that Jess doesn’t have a sibling anymore.

I am angry that Shalini didn’t get her happy family with you.

And I am angry with myself, for the many regrets I will have for the rest of my life, and for just being angry.

So yes, life has changed. We are all angry. Small things upset us, slightly similar to the way they used to upset you. Like the guy who scolded me for parking the car illegally outside the bakery. 

I know you wouldn’t want this. So we will try to move “anger” out of our home, as soon as possible. And hopefully for good. I suspect “anger” will at least intermittently want to visit us forever though.

And as always, I take comfort, that anger is no longer residing in you. And perhaps most importantly darling, I am not angry with you. And never will be. I know the years of torture you endured. So no, we are not angry with you.

Love you darling,

Mum