One year ago today, I lost my dad. Because his passing was so unexpected, it seemed my whole world stopped spinning in an instant. I learned about his death while miles away. In that moment, all I could do was step into the cold winter air and speak out aloud to him – a few words in spirit, woefully aware I would never again be able to do so in person. After that, I went into myself: hollow and cold, as if the wind had been knocked out of my sails.

Today, one year since, I’m writing in memory of my dad and to share what I have learned about the power and impact of grief. If you are among the lucky ones to have a close relationship with your parents, when they pass, the safety blanket of love you’ve known all your life no longer surrounds you. That jolt undoubtedly causes a paradigm shift in your perspective of the world and of life itself. You are now a product of everything they have imparted to you over their years with you on earth.

I was lucky enough to spend 35 years with my dad and by all accounts, he was no ordinary human being. To my brother Mannat and I, he will always be dad (or “gag” as Mannat would call him as a baby), but he was first a faithful son, a protective brother, a loyal friend, and an excellent husband to my mom, Shahnaz.  

When dad laughed his eyes would always well up. In fact, he would be laughing even before he told the joke – his belly vibrating, unable to contain his excitement. Dad was a storyteller who would regale his audience and almost always have them in splits. Making fun of those he loved was a favourite for him. He’d never spare an opportunity to tell jokes about mom’s love for desserts or the way Mannat would say, “… thirdly, fourthly, fifthly…”.

If you’ve visited him at home, you have surely enjoyed chai and samosas together. Dad loved sharing meals with everyone around him. When we were kids, he would make us Tang lollipops and even built a bhel station for one of our parties. He would hide in the garden and spray us with water when we got off the school bus on hot summer days. When I moved abroad, I remember walking over to Café 34 with him in New York or driving to Dunkin Donuts, where we shared donuts over some coffee and conversations about life. 

Dad had the unique ability to make any place he was, feel like a safe space. He made everyone around him feel comfortable and truly seen. He never passed on an opportunity to help someone. Whether it meant driving people home during a storm, donating his time and money to our local orphanage or simply being a good listener to his friends. “The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning.” When I look back, most things dad did were in service of others, making his life a full and meaningful one. He left us with a lifetime of memories: to hold close to us, to make us smile and to carry us forward. 

After a loss this significant, the concept of moving forward seems daunting. The grief comes in waves; sometimes it’s tears of sadness when you hear a song and sometimes it’s laughter when you think of a funny memory. The best advice I received on the subject is to permit yourself to feel everything; the ups and downs, the highs and lows, all of it. Not to subscribe to anyone’s definition of how to feel, because grief is deeply personal, and we all experience it in our own ways. 

We mourn not only for the person we lost, but also for the version of ourselves that only existed when they were around. We slowly pick up the pieces of ourselves and sew them back together. In our attempt to heal, we become new, forever changed but stronger. The grief we carry is all the love we have, and I hope to carry this love with me until we meet again, dad.