Her Last Journey

She got the best death of all. Now you are here, now you aren’t. Swift and at a time when people still want you to be around.

She wasn’t a famous public figure. She may not have been known to people in the building two stone throws away. But she was a good soul. Someone who made some difference in the lives of those who were known to her. She was no mahatma, but to those who knew her, she was a gentle, kind and forever caring soul.

Seven years ago, when I was a new addition to the apartment complex where we live, it was as though I was thrown into unchartered territory. I didn’t know anyone here. It was a life in an entirely new city, filled with strangers wherever I went. After having spent the better part of my life in a small town, where you couldn’t walk two feet without rubbing ass with a familiar face, this was terrifying. She was the first person to come and introduce herself, ask about me, and just make me comfortable in every way.

Her life was no bed of roses. Her son, the oldest, is a differently abled person. I remember seeing her taking her overgrown child everywhere with her. It must have been difficult for sure. But never was there a moment when she didn’t smile. Always the cheerful lady, always the one to be grateful to God for everything she had, rather than focusing on everything she didn’t.

There weren’t many to bid her farewell on her last journey. But the eyes of those who were, were brimming with tears. All hearts quietly saying their last goodbyes.

She was a good woman. She will be sorely missed.

Goodbye Mrs. Mehta.

Rest in peace.

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