I miss the weight of her body on top of me falling asleep.
I miss how white her teeth were and how her tying bells aroourful skirts from Rajastan.
I miss watching her tying bells around her ankles and practicing classical Indian dance.
I miss hearing her opinions on politics, race, climate change, gender and the cosmos.
I even miss her putting on music!
Where do dead people go? It’s nice to think they are lounging on beaches made of clouds and constantly experiencing different forms of euphoria—the kind of happiness that has no limits. No one wants to think of a loved one suffering in death, so that’s why the notion of a better place above is so popular. Now, if this is all true, then what about the world’s worst criminals? Where are they? Charles Manson died a couple of years ago, so is he running around scaring loved ones? I suppose that’s whey the idea of hell is so enticing. Hell lets us feel that OUR loved ones, the ‘good’ people, are safe, at peace and even blissful.
All of this sounds great, but then comes the ultimate question; who gets to make the travel arrangements for us when we die? Who tells the dead to go up, or down? Sending serial killers like Manson to hell is a no brainer, but what about the rest of us? How do I know if my wife and in-laws are up above versus down below?
I must say that I really, really enjoy the idea of my wife and in-laws watching over my daughter and I with pride, but then I start thinking, I hope they are not wondering why I haven’t done the dishes yet? Or, why isn’t my daughter’s room cleaner and more organized? Hopefully, they can’t see every detail, maybe it’s more of a general feeling instead of a crystal clear image of us that they see. It’s good for somethings to be private, right? They don’t to watch me go to the bathroom, or pick my nose, do they?
Bottom line, I like the idea of them watching over us, but sometimes this notion makes me feel like I am not doing enough as a single parent. I find myself hoping that they are happy about how I am raising Anisha.