Who Am I Now?

Sunanda’s husband was hit by a truck on his way home from work. He survived, but he has been in a coma for three years. Sunanda visits him in the care home every evening. She talks to him, holds his hand and tells him about their son. He does not answer.

Wife, or something else?

At first, Sunanda knew exactly who she was. She was a wife whose husband was in hospital. But as the months turned into years, the question became harder. She was still married, but she slept alone, decided everything alone and paid every bill alone. At a wedding, an aunt asked her whether she would wear coloured saris again. Another relative suggested that she should stop wearing her mangalsutra. Sunanda went home and cried, because she did not know what to say.

This confusion is very common in unclear loss. Pauline Boss describes the questions people ask themselves. Am I a wife or a widow? Am I my mother’s child or her parent? Who is my family now? Where do I belong? These questions have no easy answer, because the situation itself has no answer.

You can be both

A friend of Sunanda’s, whose husband had dementia, gave her some advice. “You do not have to choose a label,” she said. “For now, you are both. You are still his wife, and you are also living as a woman on her own. You can wear what feels right to you on any given day. Nobody else gets to decide that.”

Sunanda kept her mangalsutra. She also started wearing the bright saris she loved, and she stopped asking relatives for permission. She realised that she had been waiting for someone to tell her who she was. Now she decided for herself.

Letting a child be a child

Sunanda’s son Tanish was eleven when the accident happened. At the hospital, a well-meaning uncle put a hand on his shoulder and said, “You are the man of the house now.” Tanish took this seriously. He began checking the locks at night and worrying about money. He stopped playing cricket with his friends.

A school counsellor noticed how tired and serious he had become. She helped Sunanda see that Tanish was carrying a weight meant for adults. Sunanda asked her brother to help with bank work and house repairs. She told Tanish clearly, “You do not have to look after me. Looking after the family is the grown-ups’ job. Your job is to study and to play.” Tanish went back to cricket within a month.

Keeping the festivals

The first Diwali after the accident, Sunanda did not want to celebrate. Lighting lamps without her husband felt wrong. But Tanish was sad, and the house felt empty. So she changed the festival rather than cancelling it. Tanish drew the rangoli, which used to be his father’s job. They took a small lamp and a box of his favourite sweets to the care home, and lit the lamp beside his bed.

Families in this situation often feel that celebrations should stop. But festivals and family rituals hold a family together. It is usually better to change them, so that they fit the family as it is now, than to cancel them altogether.

How it is now for Sunanda

Sunanda still visits her husband every evening. She has also gone back to teaching, and she has joined a group for families of people in long-term care. When people ask her which she is, wife or widow, she says, “I am Sunanda.” That is the answer she has found.