Measuring time

Having decided to make waffles for dinner, I found myself remembering the waffle iron we had at home when I was a kid. It was a beige and brown and made waffles shaped like a flower, each individual 'piece' a heart. I loved (and still love) slathering butter on one and enjoying the deliciousness of a waffle and the pools of golden melted butter.

Understandably, this waffle iron is no longer in use. The current one gives us two rectangles at a time. The pockets in the waffle are bigger, which means they hold more butter. Yum! While making waffles for dinner, I noticed that the handle of our waffle iron had a crack in it, making it difficult to lock shut. It still did its job, but would need to be replaced soon.

I told Amma that our waffle iron was entering its final few uses and she said it is quite old now. "No, it's not," I said, "Athamma got it for us."

"Which means it's ten years... at least," Amma said.

Ten years being the number of years it has been since Athamma passed away. Well, not ten, but eleven. Eleven whole years without her.

I remembered recently this one time she was observing sil at a nearby temple. It was Vesak because I remember going with Aiya to buy lanterns. While we were buying some, it started raining, so we decided to go to the temple and check with Athamma if she wanted to come home with us.

While complaining about the heat, I told one of our cats that it wouldn't rain for a while. "We have to wait till May. It always rains for Vesak," I said, "This one time it rained so Aiya and I went to the temple to pick Athamma." And that's when I remembered. That too, happened over 11 years ago.

This is how we measure time sometimes. A before and after of loss. A time when someone was still with us. And a time when they were no longer with us.

I know I write about the after quite a lot. It's been years and it is still difficult sometimes to understand how life has continued on without Athamma. Things still remind me a bit too much of her. A shirt that looks too much like one she loved. The lovely pink of the coconut rock she always made for Avurudu and that I've now started making. Always On My Mind, Thani Wee Sitinnayi, and other songs she loved.

But writing about the years without her doesn't mean I don't constantly think about the years with her. The way she loved me. They way she took care of me. And now, she, or rather, her death has become a way to measure time. And soon, I would have lived more years without her than with. And maybe there'll be a day when I won't remember her. When she would cease to exist in my mind.

There's a lot of things one finds themselves hoping for, and for me, it's that such a day never comes. God, I hope I remember her love and warmth and kindness until the day I myself die.