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| Image courtesy: Google |
The morning sun was hidden behind grey clouds and the wind
brought with it soft sprays of the morning rain. It was getting cold and the
inmates of We Care hospital slowly made their way inside after having spent an
hour in the beautiful garden with Janet, the social worker. She came thrice a
week to hold hands, listen and speak to them. They could say anything to her.
She would listen patiently without judgement, sometimes responding with a few
lines of poetry or a mere nod of the head or engaging them in a fun activity.
That seemed to be enough for the patients who had been admitted there to recover from
the shock of bereavement.
Once the group session was over she had a few individual
sessions. Janet walked to the cafeteria where Maya waited every day to share
her pain, the tragic demise of her husband. As she listened, offering her
thoughts occasionally, Janet was taken back to the days when she herself had
been stricken with grief when her son, barely five, had left her to be
lonely forever. They had been playing at the beach when he spotted a shiny
object in the water and ran after it, never to return again.
Janet was devastated and had withdrawn into a shell. She was an
emotional wreck for several months until her friend, a psychologist at We Care
had suggested she come in regularly to meet others who were also battling the pain of loss of
a loved one. She had come a long way from there, learning to cope and simultaneously
lending a hand to other grievers. She was glad she had someone to steer her
through troubled times and so was determined to do the same to others too.
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