It has happened to most of us at some time or the other. A friend wants to meet us and we put them off with a light, ‘Some other time’. We are either too busy on the day they want to meet or just not in the mood: Too caught up in our own affairs to make time for what seems like a routine outing or visit — another one just like any of the dozens we’ve known and indulged in, in the past. Where we have lingered over a meal, bantered about joint activities and joint trips, reminisced about our first encounters and how we had behaved and what we had noticed about each other before affection had grown, fought over who pays the bill then and who will pay next ...
We think we can do it again as routinely. Our “tomorrows” and “next weeks” stretch ahead of us interminably and we do not think twice about the brush off. Most probably, the other person does not either: Both of us equally sure that we’ll meet up again as we have been doing for years.
And then fate creeps in like a thief in the night and suddenly — overnight — it is hospitals, CT scans, MRIs ... a whole battery of investigations and treatments, many followed by their own special (and painful) reactions. Nothing is the same any more. Nothing can be. But we are still upbeat, for our friend and loved one is much too special a member of our circle to be the chosen one to leave first.
As we wait for prognoses as we would a judge’s verdict, we spend quiet moments of introspection and reflection and we acknowledge that she has been the catalyst for more of our activities than we can count. The idea bank, the one who never failed to come up with something that forced us to think creatively. And she didn’t make it seem like she was pushing: It was just a gentle tap, a little spark and everything else followed. But without her, nothing may have happened at all. We may never have stretched ourselves to attempt what she had been sure we could. She had confidence in us when we had none in ourselves.
So we wait for a reprieve and if, by some lucky chance, there is one, we rush to make up for lost time and lost ground. If we manage to meet, spend with her what can only be called “quality time” since the quantity is now rationed out, we emerge elevated in mind and spirit. Wondrous of the fortitude that enables her to continue to work at different creations and interest herself so completely in the other person that she forgets the toll on her own health.
It is easy to see the positive when she is around. Her focus in not on her struggle. She is constantly looking outward — at us and the minor debacles in our daily lives. It is easy to be hopeful of our next meeting, easy to wave goodbye and believe that she will be back at her post given a little more time. It is easy to push aside any thought that this could be the last time.
She is much too vital for that, we tell ourselves. She is on her way back. She is going to be a medical miracle.
But now we know the miracle was in her being a part of our lives. We must be grateful that she touched us with the light of her affection. We must celebrate her unfailing optimism by being optimistic.
Perhaps there will be some other time — and some other place.
Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.
