I lost someone extremely dear to me recently—my Appachi, my eldest aunt who was practically the only grandmother I really had. Her and Vallyachan, my uncle, my grandfather for all intents and purposes, were two of the very few constants in my life. Our bond grew stronger as we grew older, especially so, since I stayed with them for most part of the year during my college years and on most weekends even after I started working. In almost every way, I have been more attached to the both of them more than my own parents. And I have joked about how if I was forced to make a list of my favourite people on earth, it would contain Hari and the girls and then them right afterwards.

Our bond never diminished, never even dimmed in its glow even after I moved to Hyderabad more than a decade ago. We kept our love and affection intact despite the distance and had weekly calls where Appachi and I would share news and gossip, and Vallyachan and I would engage in deep, philosophical conversations. All of us looked forward to these calls with equal excitement, so much so that in the last few weeks since Appachi became completely bedridden and Vallyachan hasn’t been well enough to attend calls, I have felt a huge void created by the absence of our much-awaited calls. Now that she is gone and Vallyachan’s dementia worsening by the day, that void has become permanent.

Before she passed on, there were two weeks of us knowing that she was sinking, and I had thought that I would indeed be prepared for the imminent. But when it actually happened, I knew that no amount of time or dreaded anticipation was enough to prepare us for the loss of someone that close to us. While for others, it makes sense rationally to say that she had a long, happy life and went without suffering too much, all of which is right by the way, to us, the ones closest to her, it is an avalanche of decades’ worth of happy memories drowning us.

I had seen deaths in the family before, but none that affected me too much. Maybe it’s the fact that this is the first time I am encountering the loss of someone who really mattered, still matters, to me that is making me break down every now and then, even days later. Add to that the fact that the only other person from my side of the family who is as important, my Vallyachan, is only a shadow of his former self and fading away slowly. It is heartbreaking to say the least.

While talking to a close relative yesterday, I spoke about how it was still very difficult for me to cope with the loss and how I was slowly learning to live with it. She replied with something that shocked me, “This is why you should never love or get too attached to anyone ever. Not even your own kids. Because if you do, you will find it too difficult to move on when they leave. Always love within a limit.” I didn’t know how exactly to respond to this weird piece of wisdom. I just said, “Well, they never loved me within a limit. Their love and affection for me was limitless and they made sure that I knew it. So why would I ever limit my love for them?” I don’t think she understood, I don’t think she ever will.

Thinking about her comment after the call, I realized that it now made perfect sense why this person in question was always sort of distant from everyone, even her own kids and grandkids. She loves everyone, no doubt. But she is so stingy with showing that affection to anyone and can be pretty judgemental of others who are open with their love and affection. I finally realized that for whatever reason, she has always lived her life with this “limited love” mantra to protect herself from losses, something that is evident in all her relationships.

It made me sad, to be honest, that in her pursuit of strength and protection from heartbreaks, she had missed out on the best gift of all—love. Sure, I cry every now and then mourning my Appachi and to some extent, even my Vallyachan, although he is still here. I mourn the loss of all our special times together that we would never have again. But I also smile thinking of all the amazing times we have had together in this lifetime.

When I close my eyes, I can hear the affection in Appachi’s voice when she would call my name, I can feel her fingers gently caressing my hair. Even from somewhere deep down in the pit of dementia, my Vallyachan suddenly took my hand the other day and told me with a sweet smile, “You are our granddaughter and you have always meant a lot to us.” That moment, when I realized that no matter what else he forgets, I would still be somewhere in his mind, made me smile and cry at the same time, out of gratitude, pride, and a kind of love I have not felt for many people in my life. Would I have all these precious memories if I kept them at an arm’s distance?

Yes, it might not be wise to get too attached to just about everyone who comes into our lives. But there are some who are absolutely worthy of our love, our limitless love, because what they feel for us is the same. And we should never stop ourselves from feeling that love from or for them, only because we are scared that they would leave someday. Just as I feel with my Appachi and Vallyachan, life wouldn’t only be tears when they are gone, it would also be the sum of countless amazing memories that we will treasure for a lifetime. If we say no to those tears, we are also saying no to all the joys and smile that they could bring into our lives.

So please, never be scared to love. Love… love with all your heart… love without limits… love knowing that it is the best gift you can give yourselves and to the ones who are truly worthy of it.

Also published on Medium.