To The Pallbearers of My Little One

For quite some time, I have been sharing my thoughts with those of you who read my dedications while I go day after day without my baby girl, Aabi, I have tried to translate a pinch of what goes on in this heart and mind of mine into readable text. This is not to share my unwanted, devastating experience, but probably my effort to channel the whirlwind of emotions (my delusional grief brain builds theories) of pain, missing, craving, incompleteness, guilt, anger, and, most importantly, love, generating energy that might transcribe my feelings out into the universe, in the hope that they may somehow touch her spirit, wherever she may be (possible or impossible is a world unknown).

I am in the middle of completing my write-up on 'retrospective' thoughts we have and facts we realise that shape our understanding of how life on this planet, perhaps even beyond this world, rests on these reflections. That will come out when I am somewhat done justifying my thought process. Far from that, yet amidst that, I have landed on my daughter's final Earthly moments. I am referring here to the moments when we, alive humans, who were all she knew and recognised, got together to thoughtfully, lovingly, and maturely decided on the manner in which we will have her be forever after.

For the past year and 4-5 months, my brain has been unable to get past the hospital hours, minutes, and seconds when Aabi was alive, and when we had no clue she was not going to be anymore, beyond an hour on the clock that I will never get to settle score with for the remainder of mine. I have blurry, hazy visions of the days and time leading up to her funeral (mind me, it is the hardest thing within a mother's capacity to spell out the word funeral for her child). I do not recollect my state of mind during these days, nor do I remember what I thought when I decided on the dress I chose for her, along with the accessories, or everything that her sister, her father, and I decided to put inside her casket (another hellish word when you say/use it for your own birthed child). Let alone remembering or having memories of how I went through the proceedings, I don't think I have clarity on what and how I dressed her last, saw her in person, or had her resting there as people came to bid her farewell. Some who had never met her while she was creating mischief and giving me memories of what a strong-willed toddler was capable of.

My dull, overly emotion-clouded brain has recently been going back to the 4 hands and arms, 4 strong men that carried my baby into the place deep inside of the Earth where she now sleeps endlessly. And again and again, my heart wants to pause that moment. As I will mention in detail how retrospective thoughts bring us to places we never would have landed in if life carried on regularly or in an anticipated manner, I now look at these 4 sets of hands, filled with love and sorrow, that lifted the coffin (coffin - these words now stay with me, as you all know why) of a child who had brought so much joy and mischief into our lives. They were whom Aabi recognized and felt safe with. Her father, her grandfather, her uncle, and a dear family friend. They love her and have seen her walk, run, make noise, laugh, and create magic - called life. These were 4 people whom my little Aabi recognised as hers, and whom she felt safe and at home with.

They are known as the Pallbearers. The pall, a cloth that lovingly wraps a person, and bearers, those who carry them to their final, forever safe place now. They carried not just the coffin, but the little girl who was life itself, a daughter who held a family's future, a sister who is a lifelong companion, a soulmate, a granddaughter who is their light, a niece who channels love in amazing new ways, and a friend's daughter who completes a family's picture and gives reasons to plan life.

Aabi's pallbearers were her father, her grandfather, her uncle, and a dear friend. I cannot begin to describe what I am feeling as I realise what this means. They carried her gently in the middle of the chaos that she was leaving behind. She was held lovingly through to her spot. The spot we now visit every few days to tend to with love. It is our baby's own little place. Surrounded by people who cared enough to carry her gently on her last journey. You stepped forward and carried her with such tenderness, dignity, and love. For those few moments, you carried more than a little coffin, you carried our child, our memories, our love, and the unbearable weight of a goodbye no parent should ever have to face.

I notice now how in those quiet steps, there was strength, tenderness, respect, and an immeasurable act of love.

“To carry someone in your arms is an act of strength; to carry them in your heart is an act of love.” We hope she created a small, safe place inside your hearts, where her beautiful memories of how she giggled, how she jumped, and how she swirled to music now rest permanently. I hope that carrying her for the last time, when I was unable to do so in my arms, in the moments when I had to let her go, gave you a loving purpose for the rest of your lives to cherish and hold both people and fond memories of her, together within the same space inside your hearts.

To Aabi's pallbearers: Thank you for carrying our beautiful girl with such gentleness and love. In one of the hardest moments of our lives, you gave us something we will never forget. We have gratitude knowing she was lovingly carried on her final journey with dignity and grace.

I dedicate this to all pallbearers who carry loved ones so gently on their last journey and help carry their memories forever.

As I Drive Away Into The Infinite - Free & Loved Forever