The untiring daughters and a fiercely committed husband have lived the ferocity of the dreaded disease, for some months now.Every medical expert with his baggage of brashness and fresh-from-the-oven knowledge visits the household and catapults the sufferer and her loved ones into a roller-coaster ride, of hope, that sounds unreal by the passing hour and despair, that seems to last longer than ever before.
But she is all grace and dignity personified.Pain must contort faces, bring out the desperation for help, very easily.She seems to have transgressed the boundaries that confine humans and evoke predictable reactions.
Grace-the abstract noun-must have a feminine gender.Women grace, grace and add to its dignity.Given the reality of the unforgiving ailment, any attempt to TRY grace hugely overshadows, grace itself.Her petite frame, easily recoiled into a cutely packaged little bundle, on the bed, is loaded with so much of dignity, steel and courage that i was reminded of the matador in a bullring.Her bed,her querencia,her spirit of a cool matador and her malady, the raging bull.
She is aware of the eventuality.Oh,ain't we all aware? But as we feign ignorance, she gracefully lives the closing in of the finality and dwindling options.
Her silence through the myriad conversations (cacophony?) is her proper grace.When medical experts try to engage her in the future implications, her gentle smile can hold a candle to grace itself.
This evening when the discussion veered towards the a possible downhill prognosis of her malady, i was not paying any heed to those involved in the dialogue.Scared of how negatively it may affect her, i raised my voice above the din of the conversation between the other doctor and her relatives.I initiated a mundane conversation with her.I shall never forget those eyes and that smile.She knew exactly what i was trying to achieve, protection from the ghastly, gory details of her disease.The look she gave me before she effortlessly picked the thread of the conversation, was loaded with incredible softness..
She had made peace with her tormentor-the ailment.Her poise and dignity would never offer semblance of an opportunity to the savage, brute of a disease to ruffle or unnerve her any further.She had implicit faith and immense trust in her own ability to go through the vagaries of the ailment, UNCONQUERED.Her body will go through pain, hurt and insults.No one expects anything better from an unforgiving savage.But her unaffected soul, a liberated sage, shall sail through unscathed, victorious.Incidentally, my effort to distract her from the negativity brewing as a consequence of the discussion around her, earned her approval and i did not miss the warmth of thanksgiving, conveyed through her twinkling eyes.
Isn't it amazing that where most would have been stripped of any dignity and poise, she has wedded to the inner peace and silence which embellish her grace, even further.
The last i heard, while retreating from the doorstep of her home, that there was some murmur audible about not wasting time and efforts to tame her.I know for sure that was her ailment thinking aloud.
"You are weak, but you have given yourself to grace
For you know, Grace is God
The ocean takes care of each of its wave
Till it reaches the shore."
Amen.
