Friday, April 22nd, 2022. Somewhere around 2:11PM – my eyes blurred when I consciously looked at the clock in Northwell Manhasset’s Palliative Care Unit, first room on the right. Somewhere around 2:11PM. A piece of my heart blew out with your last two breaths. 

I don’t know why you chose that moment. I’ll never know. I know your heart though, so I know it wasn’t to traumatize us. All Mansi & I said to you when everyone else left the room to do other things was that everyone and everything would be ok. We held your cold hands & said we love you so much. We stroked your graying hair back and touched your tiny stubble, and though our hearts were screaming deafeningly to please not leave us, our mouths begrudgingly spoke the words that it was ok. It was ok for you to be ok – on your own terms. Sometimes I wish we’d never said so. Because it was in those quick moments after – I saw the one breath..I waited..I saw the second..I held my breath so I could be sure..and then nothing. NOTHING. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. I didn’t say anything to Mansi yet, her head was on your chest, but not actually consciously there, so she didn’t realize that the up and down motion had stopped. I left her there & went to the nurse’s station in a haze internally, but me being the absolute freak that I am, the picture of calm & stability on the outside. Never let them see you falter. I asked the nurse how we would know – she said, well, “sometimes they will suddenly wake up & start screaming & flailing, sometimes they will open their eyes & say a final word or two,” etc. I knew that wasn’t it in your case. You didn’t feel like making a spectacle. You had made peace with your life and you decided that you, as always, would do things on your own damn terms. The perfect storm of desperation, resignation, and most of all, relief. I asked the nurse to please come into the room, didn’t tell her you were gone. No one knew but me at this point. A secret I kept so that everyone else would have an extra 5 minutes of ignorant bliss. People say it’s a blessing, that I was there then, but those last two breaths will haunt me until the moment that it’s my turn.

She came in. She checked your pulse. She felt your chest. And then she did the thing that keeps me awake every day and every night and every moment in between. She forcefully opened your eyelids & shone the penlight in. Pupils basically told her to fuck off (an image that tortures me in the pitch black of the night when I stare at the ceiling & even in the breaking of light when my eyes reluctantly open). And then she looked at me and Mansi and said, “Yes. He passed. I’m so sorry.” Mansi crumbled. Now you know why I kept the secret an extra 5 minutes. The other few came in from phone calls & getting coffee to the scene at hand. It took me a bit to cry. As it generally does. And then I couldn’t stop. And I haven’t stopped in a year – although now it takes me a few margaritas because otherwise that would be all I would do & you would be SO PISSED at me. I’ll skip the rest because it’s pointless for your spirit.

We went home. Like zombies, we gave valet tickets & took plastic bags of the stuff from the room – I just pretended you were a new mother & I was bringing Mansi’s stuff home after Aaryn & Aydin. The things you do to make it one minute to the next, huh? At home, I waited..for what, I don’t know. A call saying I was Punk’d? Then I decided that I would honor you somehow. I went to Frida’s (which is where I have come for all special occasions now – alone – your birthday, my new job, etc. Also where I am writing this now, on your one year anniversary). I drank so many “very good margaritas,” ignored all texts and calls, and tearfully told the manager that I was there hours after my godfather left me because you wanted to come here so much. You were on your way home from a CT & walked in when it was under renovation to find out about the menu & the chef & if anyone from our 25 year old haunt of El Coyote Loco would be here or not. You called me after that & said they have vegetarian options, beta, we will come here when it’s ready. YOU DID NOT GET TO DO THAT. So now, I never sit in a booth or on the “restaurant” side of El Coyote Loco/Frida’s. I sit at the bar & toast you for everything you didn’t get to do and for everything that you did for me. Anyway, I was super responsible, you’d be proud – I left my car at Frida’s & decided to walk to Vincent’s, where only you knew that I’d recently started singing. I sent you videos every week. On the mile walk from Seaford to Wantagh, I don’t remember much. Just that I was going to sing for you that night..I also might have been singing out loud as I walked. The reds here would’ve definitely called the cops on me if it wasn’t a Friday night. I walked into Vincent’s at some point – disheveled, still wearing the clothes that I was wearing when you left, probably crazy-eyed and smelling like tequila – but I sang. And Gd only knows how I even made a little speech prior to singing “Stand By Me,” about how I had lost you a few hours earlier. But my little group there knew what we had been going through & they helped me through. I drank some more. Then I walked to Mansi’s house, hysterical, (I think, I don’t remember). Apparently, I didn’t want anyone to disturb my tribute to you so I put my phone on Do Not Disturb – I’m sure you know how happy everyone was about that, they couldn’t get in touch with me for hours. But I’m almost not sorry. I’m always there for everyone – it’s my core make up much to my own detriment – and although I know they were all worried about me to no end, I sometimes wonder if they also just wanted my shoulder to cry on..one I was incapable of giving anymore. Anyway, Shiv came to pick me up from Mansi’s once they knew where I was. I don’t even know why I’m putting this story out into the ether or to you – maybe just to help others realize that grief is a weird piece of shit & to help you see the never-ending void you’ve left behind. So, I was driven home & then I decided to call Northwell’s main line – a number I had memorized at this point over the course of your 7 weeks there. I wanted to be connected to the morgue. I’m sure anyone who is bothering to read this probably just took a collective “WHAT THE FUCK” gasp, but hey, I am who I am. An untrusting, fiercely loyal, firebrand Scorpio. I wanted to make sure you were actually there. With all of Northwell & Glen Cove Rehab’s fuck ups, I wanted to make sure they couldn’t possibly do it in death, too. So I called & had the morgue assistant double check that you were actually there & that your name & DOB were correct. She wasn’t very empathetic, but then again, I don’t know how many people call at 11PM to find out if their loved one is actually there. I asked her if she actually pulled out the drawer & saw you because I couldn’t trust her otherwise. And then I asked her if I could visit you the next day. She said no, that’s not usually a thing they do, but I’m me so I freaked out in a calm and threatening manner. She said I would need special permission & gave me the info to do so. Spoiler Alert: No one let me go the next day, AND they took my car keys. Whatever. 

I was part of a small group of people who decided that your funeral would be sooner rather than later. I didn’t give a shit whether or not all of the people who wanted to come could come, my only concern was that you were absolutely, in no uncertain terms, not going to be sitting in a claustrophobic freezer for days & days. You were going to be set free – away from the shitshow that is current life. I didn’t think I would be able to manage a Gd damned thing. It’s a shocker the power Casamigos has though. As Dad planned something that was obviously hard AF for him, and managed my psychosis at home (I literally screamed at him in hysterical tears to save you the night before you left whilst having a panic attack on my bathroom floor. “DADDY, PLEASE DO NOT LET HIM DIE!!!!!!!!!! YOU HAVE TO SAVE HIM!!!” Puff on my inhaler. So, no pressure or anything. I’ve always been known for emotional drama – HSP forever.

The day we had to say a final goodbye, I went early. Before anyone else. To have my time with you. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize what my guttural reaction would be. Shiv had to ask the people there to remove all signs of your name, all pictures, anything that would set me off. They were very kind & obliged. It took me time to go into the room. I didn’t know what to expect, but I also did? I had been to funerals before, I knew what they entailed. But this? My legs buckled and I screamed. And then I completely lost my mind lol. I tried to shake you awake and had to be held back. I begged you to wake up through really gross snot & tears, man. You would’ve been so mad, I looked so disgusting..I did manage some lower eyeliner & a pink lip, though. Literally only for you – and my eulogy attests to why. 😉 Had half a Xanax (forced unto me) & my inhaler in my system. Sipping out of a cute little tumbler that everyone was so happy about because they thought it was cold water – thanks to George Clooney & Rande Gerber, it was Casamigos Blanco and the Felix Felices (IYKYK) I needed to get me through. After that, I stayed in the director’s office instead of the main area. There was no shot of me staying in that same room with you not speaking to me with that twinkle in your eye & that comical smirk, both of which my Aaryn has inherited by the way. People tried to come in & tell me that I should be there in the room – that Mansi, Mini, and Shiv are there – I was probably rude, but with no regrets. I didn’t owe the world my presence, I only owed you – & you always knew I was there for you forever and always. When the time came for me to speak (I actually volunteered because people deserved to know the you that I knew for 40 years), I was brought in separately (DIVA!) & I got on the mic and I used the bullet points I had somehow found the consciousness to jot down and I spoke. I spoke from the depths of my soul (not really, let’s say depths of my heart because my soul is private & I speak it to you separately in the dark shadowy nights that don’t let me sleep). I sang a Shrinathji Bhajan – and your people joined in. I stood upright (thanks, Clooney). I even made a joke! (I think – I don’t actually know what I said & I never heard it back, but everyone knows how much I love you so I’m sure that showed through). And then I ran away. When it was time for the stupid pandit to do whatever he gets paid to do, he started speaking graphically about random shit like blood coming out of ears if a soul isn’t at rest. WTF. WHO SAYS THIS. Hinduism is traumatizing as shit sometimes. So, I lost it (there’s a theme here), and started yelling at him that you were fine & that you obviously weren’t bleeding through your effing orifices so to STFU. I was told to calm down & brought to a seat instead of having my hand on you like everyone else did. Later, the pandit had to state a disclaimer that if someone wasn’t able to listen to his words, then perhaps it was better for them to stay in another room. LOL! He can suck it. Gd forbid someone’s grief interrupt his religious bullshit. Needless to say, I left to sit somewhere else while those with guts of steel went to burn your body into ash. As I was escorted to leave, I saw your car outside in the parking lot. NY CAM 2216. And I fell into the ground. I remember screaming how ridiculous it was that you drove to your own funeral!? (You obviously didn’t, your brother-in-law was using it for everything that needed to be done). And then..life.

I tried everything and I feel like I tried absolutely nothing. I did exhaustive research, I called doctor friends, doctor family, spoke to yours at Northwell. I gave options, no matter how absurd they sounded, I ordered a chest x-ray that your fucking hepatologist, Dr. Sathapathy, couldn’t be bothered to do because I saw that you were breathing slightly differently from the day before. Trust you to try to fake them out with a pO2 of 100% – you could never fool me, my friend. My phone still autocorrects “OMG” to “INR” & medical professionals will know how much I would’ve had to type that for it to be in my phone’s dictionary. But I’m mad at you, too. When Aaryn & I called you on your birthday on July 28th, 2021 from the Cars Suite at The Art of Animation in Disney, you said you weren’t feeling 100%, but it was “just a cough,” “just allergies.” I begged you to go get tested for Covid because delta was running rampant (I mean, me, Aaryn, & Aydin had it 2 months later). You got mad at me & said absolutely not, you had it already. I should’ve pushed harder. I should’ve forced you. You were eligible for antibody treatment. All of this bullshit that followed – scars on your lungs, the “beginning” of liver cirrhosis for a barely social drinker, and so much more – was a result of the 2nd bout of Covid & there is no one on this planet who could ever tell me otherwise. I know it in my gut. I’m mad at you. You listened to me about just about everything in life – you heard me, you understood – and this one thing?? You couldn’t just do it? You couldn’t just get a Q-tip up your nose & a quick IV in your arm? After surviving diabetes, hypertension, high cholesterol, prostate cancer, 12 stents, and a septuple bypass? AN IV!? For ME? 

Instead, you gave up and left. I know you gave up – consciously – I saw it happen. The man who loved food more than most things – stopped eating? The man who took care of himself better than anyone else – stopped going to the doctor? I would have done anything. Anything. I would’ve made a deal with the devil. I would’ve given you my entire liver in an instant, not even just a part. Need a lung? It’s yours! But you made your decision. You were over it. And as angry as I am, the grief cuts so much deeper. As does the understanding. I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you one bit. You left while you could escape this hellscape – both emotionally & overall. One night, earlier on, you had called me from the hospital at 4AM & said, “Tinku. I am in my last stages. I am in my last stages. Love you, beta.” That wasn’t even an actual thing then. I lost my fucking mind at 4AM thinking you knew what was going on. Everyone convinced me it was nothing, you didn’t. But you DID. 

I live in regret most days, your leaving has changed my life at its core. The things I could’ve said, what more could I have done, did you know how much I love you?? Was it not enough? Was none of it enough? Did I not do enough? Did I not show enough? Every moment I remember that should I ever get married, you won’t be there for my kanyadaan – like dad was for Mansi & Mini. Did I wait too long? Should I have just put aside my trauma & not taken everything for granted so much that now, if/when this happens for me, I won’t have you to celebrate with me? To walk me down the aisle? To play with MY babies? Six days before you left, mom & I were there and you asked her, happily, if there was someone in my life & if that why I was late on Friday getting to the hospital (& not making it before visiting hours) when mom & dad were there when Northwell & Dr. Grossman’s team ignored your chest pain/MI for TWELVE FUCKING HOURS? ONLY YOU WOULD BE MORE CONCERNED ABOUT ME HOPEFULLY BEING ON DATE WHEN YOU ARE HAVING A LITERAL HEART ATTACK. Lol. (But also, BRO, WHEN WOULD I PUT ANY DATE BEFORE YOU!? – face palm, max). What a character. I miss you so deeply, it hurts to the marrow.

I threw away the heel cream I gave you & used on you. I can’t even see it at a store anymore. I stopped using Ricola cough drops because you loved them and yelled at nurses for them. I haven’t eaten mom’s bateta pava or had her Limbu pani in over a year because she made them for you & you had them at the hospital. I haven’t had my eyebrows done in 1.5 years because it’s in Hicksville, right in the heart of your old stomping grounds, and you used to go & give Rekha the cash tip for me because I’m a delinquent and never had it on me. I can’t go to Famous Pizza, I don’t talk to your friends anymore. I will never go back to Pancho Villa because that was the last Father’s Day we spent together with mom, dad, Aaryn, & Aydin. Haven’t been to White Street in 352 days. I was made to go on the 13th day after you left – I proceeded to have a panic attack in the garage and cried until someone let me leave. I went today..drove the route that’s been on autopilot since I was 7. Made it to the cul de sac..stared at the picture window, craving the image of the man on the sofa, one leg tucked under, one arm on the top of the seat watching his beloved Mets at 8611 dB..turning his head to look outside & seeing me pulling up. Knowing that I know the code so he doesn’t need to get up to let me in, but beaming that I’m there to see him since he knows no one else is home, so it must be for him. I can’t see your face in photos. People have to warn me before they post anything. I avoid your face in my head. I have only visited you three times in 365 days, because it just doesn’t feel right to stare at a bronze plate..but the inscription and imaging is beautiful. I hope you can feel it when that breeze blows by you..just the right amount of softness & warmth..just like you. I hear your voice constantly on loop..“Yah beta, bol dikra, ok baby,” to the point where I just have to keep busy. Keep doing something or another so that there is no moment in time where I have a chance to sit with myself and my brain. 

I won’t be at your 75th birthday party for so so so many reasons..but for me, I’ll be spending it with my heart at the Magic Kingdom. We are going to dedicate the Happily Ever After fireworks to you, we are going to go to Epcot’s Mexico Pavilion (Babu said, “Of course, Kiku!”) so I can eat & drink for you and also be around “Coco” memorabilia. We are going to go on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad & scream “AY Chandramukhi!” I have a lot of things that I may need help with, but for now, all of these things work for me in order to continue with the process of survival.

In your absence, not only does everything suck, everyone does too. You’d think such a deep collective loss would slowly unite, and slowly but surely bring the understanding that ego is so overrated & that to base your relationship with someone based on their relationship with someone else is such idiocy. Or that things that have been said or done in the past may not be forgiven, but can be talked through. Or that the cliche of “life is short,” has literally just shown itself to you naked & bare, and that one’s egotistical reluctance to apologize for the mistakes made in the recent past is so abhorrent. Or even just a fleeting thought of forgiveness so that resentment doesn’t fester & you don’t completely sever bonding ties. Or if someone reaches out a communicative hand, then at least give them the respect of a reply. I have never been known for my blanket forgiveness, but I have been known to give chances – probably too many – in order to salvage & protect relationships. And of late, I have become a huge proponent of open and honest communication. But for the first time in my 4 decades, I don’t think it is worth it anymore. The only relationship worth having is the one with yourself – because no one else gives an eff outside of their own bubble. I think you knew this, understood this, before you left. But you still revived your relationships before that..what a Hail Mary. Before that, you were like me. Try. Beg. Plead. Remind. It isn’t worth it, buddy. Nothing ever changes. All I can say to end this random verbal diarrhea as I changed out of my cardinal pajamas into my “Remember Me” shirt..wearing my cardinal pendant as I do daily, is this:

My Disney heart that you helped cultivate with the other 3 only survives with this: “Remember me, though I have to say goodbye. Remember me, don’t let it make you cry. Remember me, let the love we have live on. For even though I’m far away, I hold you in my heart. I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart. Know that I’m with you the only way that I can be. Until you’re in my arms again, remember me.”

My 14 hour trip to Nath Dwara//Shrinathji better be something you felt because I could feel you there..knowing that I fed people in your name, I prayed for peace in your name, & I hoped for solace in your name. My entire soul is desperate in having the knowledge that you are living out your final words to us on Wednesday, April 20th, 2022, two days before you made your grand exit. “Good night. Aaram (rest). Shrinathji.”

I love you and miss you so much more than I am able to express. I live with so much regret, pain, and anger. I wish you were here. I wish I took you up on that last “chit chat” breakfast. I wish I wasn’t ignorant & I came to visit you more at the hospital more than I did, rather than doing the backend doctor/hospital calls & research & stalking you remotely because I was a big ass scaredy cat with severe PTSD. I wish so much. But most of all, I wish you were here with me. I would do everything over. As I said, I love you and miss you so much more than I am able to express, it consumes me & physically pains my heart every day. But because I know you’d be pissed AF in seeing me, your favorite of all people, this way..I “double pinky” I will try to move..on, ahead, forward, up. But right now, the path is so blurry.

Love you, Suresh Kaka. So desperately and achingly wish you were here. But even I have to understand that “a dream is a wish your heart makes..when you’re fast asleep. In dreams, you will lose your heartaches..no matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true.”  Something I hope I’m able to do again one day..if not for me, then at least for you. ❤