Tuesday Scribblings
The October 17th edition on friendship, loss, and the family we choose
Back story: a few weeks ago, I started Tuesday Scribblings, a regular post for the thoughts & commentary on the personal, regional, and global events and stories that are rattling around in my brain. Paid subscribers get access to more personal stories included at the end of occasional posts.
This morning, after drinking coffee and playing the NY Times games that ignite my brain for the day ahead, I made my grocery list for a couple days of baking: pumpkin, eggs, flour, unsalted butter, pie crusts. I added items for meals: crushed tomatoes, ground turkey, mushrooms, celery. When Desi* gets here, we can go to the store together if we want to make a specific dish, or if we want to bake Rimi* a special birthday treat beyond the pumpkin bread I plan on making for her family.
On Sunday evening my phone buzzed with a message from Rimi in our group chat. Her father Bhavyam* died over the weekend, a shock to all of us as he kept himself healthy with daily walks and eating vegetable-filled meals he prepared for himself and the family members he lived with. Desi and I comforted our friend as best we could over text, making plans to be with her as much as possible over the coming week. Later, I called Desi and we spoke of how the loss impacted us, how Rimi’s family felt like an extension of our own as we grew up. “He always made me feel safe and very few men made me feel that way when I was little,” she said, starting to cry. I talked about his big grin and warm hello whenever he saw me, how Rimi’s parents always made their home a place where others were welcome anytime.
I thought about all the sleepovers at Rimi’s house in the suburbs, how Bhavyam was coming home from his night-shift clerk job as we were slowly waking up in a large pile of pillows and blankets and sleeping bags on the floor. How he brought us breakfast from McDonald’s, the greasy little hash browns in paper sleeves and Egg McMuffin sandwiches. From the beginning of my friendship with Rimi in grade school, it felt awkward to call her parents Mr. or Mrs.; I started calling them Mom and Dad and while Rimi’s mom accepted that with a smile, it was Bhavyam who would smile from ear to ear when I walked into their house and said “Hey Dad!” He’d give me a big hug and say “Hiiiii, Cori,” drawing out the greeting.
Before I went to bed on Sunday night, I went to Rimi’s Facebook page and scrolled through her photos, staring for a long time at the ones of Bhavyam, always surrounded by his children or grandchildren, smiling the peaceful close-mouthed smile he saved for photos. Today I found the 50th birthday video Rimi compiled for me and skipped to the part where her family wished me happy birthday, Bhavyam waving at me and smiling. I will miss that smile so, so much.