Oh no, not again.
My chest heaved with dry sobs, each breath a struggle. I pressed my hand to my stomach, seeking solace amidst the nausea that accompanied my early pregnancy. It was only week seven, yet morning sickness had struck me like an unwelcome band on a tour I didn’t want to attend. I felt fortunate to be bringing new life into the world, but the overwhelming dichotomy of life and death left me feeling unmoored. I was holding onto two heavy secrets: my father’s Stage IIIB cancer and my impending motherhood.
In our Indian culture, tradition dictated that we keep the pregnancy private until the end of the first trimester. My mother and father were understandably protective, constantly checking in as if they were referees on a chaotic field. Conversations were filled with the same familiar questions—“Are you eating enough? Did you get a good night’s sleep? Can you feel the baby moving? Are you staying on top of your vitamins?” I believed these brief calls sustained my father, a reminder that life persists even in the face of illness. Grief lingered at the edges of our lives, but we sought moments of joy.
The guilt of celebrating my pregnancy weighed heavily on me. While I yearned to embrace the joy of new life, my thoughts often drifted to my father and the emptiness in his gaze. As I spoke about the baby with him, he wore a mask of happiness—smiles and laughter—but an undeniable absence loomed over our conversations. I wondered if he felt left behind as my husband and I anticipated our child’s arrival, my sister’s graduation loomed, and my mother reveled in our joys. I sensed my father’s silent struggle, caught between wanting to be part of our lives and feeling like an observer in his own.
As the months unfolded, my father’s symptoms took hold, wrapping around us like an invasive plant. There were relentless coughing fits that echoed through the house, disrupting our routines. We halted everything to offer water and cough drops, but even after brief reprieves, the coughing would return. I found comfort in placing my hand on my belly, feeling my baby’s gentle kicks, as if she too could sense her grandfather’s struggle. At dinner, he lamented that food tasted like cardboard while my cravings soared, leading me to indulge in everything from sushi to peppermint ice cream. While I gained weight, he withered away. Our lives were on completely opposite trajectories.
I held on to the hope that my pregnancy could serve as a distraction. In the months following his diagnosis, we sought joy in shared experiences—dining at my father’s favorite restaurant, catching movies, and enjoying lively games of carrom in our living room. On certain days, we managed to avoid discussing cancer, chemotherapy, or doctor visits. Yet, we could feel the reality of his illness creeping in, especially when he began to forget important details. Rather than confronting the truth, we buried ourselves in the minutiae of daily life.
At seven months pregnant, it was time for the traditional baby shower, known as Godh bharai, meaning “to fill the lap” with abundance. As I stood with my sari open to receive gifts, I noticed my father watching from a distance. I didn’t question his distance at the time, but I later asked if we could take a picture together. The hesitation etched on his face still brings me sorrow. Did he feel like a burden? Did he wish to preserve the moment’s happiness rather than allow it to be overshadowed by sadness? I never probed further.
I sensed his desire to be part of our lives, but cancer held him captive. He seemed to prefer to withdraw from the life he had known, and as much as we tried to support him—taking him to appointments, sitting by his side during difficult treatments—we, too, were moving on, leaving him behind. While we embraced life, he was grappling with letting go.
In the end, the journey of losing a father while birthing a daughter encapsulated a complex tapestry of grief and joy. It reminded me that life continues even as we navigate heartbreak and hope.
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In summary, the intertwining of grief and new life presents a profound experience, highlighting the journey of loss while celebrating the arrival of new beginnings.