Tara AnandThe Crushing Sense of Loss
When my only child—my ten-year-old daughter—left for boarding school many years ago, it took me three whole months before I could even bring myself to face the devastating sense of loss.
In the beginning I was just completely numb and shocked, so dazed in fact that I just immersed myself in work. However, once my plate was relatively free, I had no choice but to stare at the gaping hole her absence had left, “She’s gone. For good. Our life together – as one unit – will never return”. I caved with grief, face-to-face with this realization. Sure, she would return during school breaks—but it would never be the same again.
Pep Talks Don’t Work
My first response was to try to talk myself out of my despair.
After all, it was I who had encouraged her to put down her roots in a boarding school. Her nomadic existence between her father’s home and mine ever since our divorce a few years earlier, and the constant emotional tug of war between us for her time, was heart wrenching—I wanted her to have a measure of stability in her formative years.
So, I had spoken to her about going away to a lovely school, in the countryside where I knew she would be well taken care of, knowing fully well it would be near impossible for me to visit her more than once or twice a year. I reminded myself of all these strong, good reasons for encouraging her to fly away a full six years before she would have needed to, had she continued in her former local school.
“This is what you wanted for her, remember. To have this kind of nurturing, loving and supportive environment that you never had growing up in your dysfunctional home. This is what you were grooming her to become: independent. Haven’t you fulfilled your role? You should be proud of her, and sit back satisfied, glowing with pride. Come on… look at the bright side.”
It was utterly useless.
With her leaving, it was as if a big part of me had died. Suddenly, the central figure on which my thoughts and actions had been anchored had slipped away. How was I to proceed?
Going through the Identity Crisis
“What am I to do with myself? What is my role now? What meaning does my life have anymore?”
I had never realized that being a mother had become such an all-consuming identity for me – without it I felt faceless, worthless, almost redundant.
Despite the surging emotions, I could sense a silent knowing in my heart that there was more to life. And indeed, I had always believed as a mother my role was to help my child grow her own wings and fly. So, it couldn’t have been the primary function of my life.
Then what is the primary function of my life? What am I here for? What is the meaning of my life? How do I bring back joy in my life?
I couldn’t find any answers.
Staying with the Process
Nothing held my interest during this time. I didn’t feel like doing my daily yoga or meditation practice—this was new to me, as no matter how bleak I had felt in the past, I had always taken refuge in my practice.
I just couldn’t shake off the depression. I longed to feel positive and hopeful but it felt like I was just floating in space, untethered.
Then finally, I stopped struggling with myself and surrendered to life.
I started gently processing my feelings, giving them room to breathe without judgment. I wrote poetry, I wrote in my journal and did my best to get through the motions of the day, one breath at a time. In time when I felt stronger, I contemplated life, questioning my belief system and outlook.
Kahlil Gibran’s poem ‘On Children’ provided solace and showed me the way back to myself.
“Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you, but not from you. And though they are with you. Yet they belong not to you. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth…” – Khalil Gibran
My daughter was not mine to begin with—I had to let her go.
Discovering a New Perspective
Gradually and subtly, unknown to me, I began to become whole again. One day, as I was journaling my feelings and contemplating my life without her, I experienced an expansive shift…
Yes, she is gone. But not lost to me. I have to make peace with this transition. This is the natural order—life flows, people grow, relationships evolve and find a new footing.
I too must move on now, finding my footing on higher ground. I should look around and see new vistas spread before me; feel the thrill of space in which I am free to create, explore and be myself—no longer bound first and foremost by being the primary caregiver to my child.
I am free.
