My husband and I lit two candles on 15 May for sister number 3. As did my siblings and family. To mark her leaving us.

I know … WHAT? This cannot be but it is.

Even as I lit the candle, I was saying this is not right, this cannot be. It cannot be but it is. It is what it is. She’s not coming back. Why, how, what? It doesn’t matter, actually it does, but how is that going to change anything. She’s no more, and nothing is bringing her back.

Sister number 3 and I used to say, ‘it is what it is’ to describe situations that we couldn’t believe we found ourselves in. Or when we totally couldn’t explain or make sense of what had just happened to us. Or why we were the way we were knowing what we already knew.

I don’t mean to sound cryptic. I’m just sad.

Anyways, my Sinnavan and I have had daily conversations for many years. We spoke about everything and anything that was happening in each other’s lives – holidays, movies, books, our mum, siblings, family in general, and about our friends and their families. Nothing structured.

After brother number 1 and our mum passed, our conversations were not not happy, we still laughed, spoke about stuff. She was always funny and witty, but we invariably gravitated to them. We spoke about them. The things they did and said particularly our mum. My Sinnavan was a master at quoting our mum’s proverbs and reciting her idiosyncrasies. She understood, empathised and consoled me, and hopefully, me, her.  

Like I said previously, the last time we experienced death in the nuclear family was in 1985, when my dad passed. While we were gratefully fortunate, it made us ill-prepared for two, in short succession. Not that you can ever be prepared for death, I don’t think. 5 Dec, 2023 and 19 May, 2024 are dates etched in my being. And now, 26 April, 2026. Too much for one heart to bear. Father-in-law and brother-in-law number 1 passed in August, 2021 and January 2026 respectively.

Our conversations were circuitous. We surmised and inferred. We theorised about life, the harbinger of death and death. Yes, the harbinger of death. I read a book about the harbinger of death, which I recommended to sister number 3. ‘The End of Time’ it was called. By Claire North.

We were intrigued with the concept. I mean who knew, not me, that there was such a thing. Yes, I know it was a work of fiction but who’s to say its absolutely not possible or non-existent.

Sister number 3, coincidentally, bandied about quite liberally, the name of the God of Death or ‘Yama’[1].’ In her true jokey fashion, she added a Mama (uncle) to Yama, referring to him as Yama Mama. She and our mum used to have a running commentary about Yama Mama, and how our mum, who had many scary health episodes, had managed to escape the clutches of Yama Mama.

Sister number 3 told me she had made the same joke to our mum on the afternoon of 19 May, 2024, after our mum had sort of recovered from another frightening episode. She actually thought our mum had, yet again, given the slip to Yama Mama. She didn’t. Yama Mama did come up in our conversations, quite a bit. More so in recent years.

Also, sister number 3 believed that once you’re dead, you’re dead. Why? She recounted an actual abduction case where the girl/daughter was held in a house, next door to her mum’s home. The mum died, probably from a broken heart, not knowing or finding out where or what happened to her daughter. The girl was held captive for many years after, and finally escaped on her own wits. The dead parent didn’t/couldn’t help. Hence, the belief.

As an aside, sister number 3 was gravely ill, not an exaggeration, in her 30’s. While she was poorly, she had a dream/vision of a man in a white dhoti (a traditional Indian garment for men) beckoning her to follow him. The man in white was called Venkatachalam, not Yama Mama. My dad, who had already passed, appeared in the same dream/vision, and vehemently told her to go home and not follow this man. Read what you want from the dream/vision, but she read it as a save from the grasps of Yama Mama.

That said, like my mum, she too failed to escape him on 26 April, 2026. How can? Why? It’s surreal. Her passing is too sudden and unbelievable. How do I make sense of this tragic death? And if I could, what do I do with it?

I now have a ‘it is what it is’ situation that I have to deal with by myself. No more Sinnavan to talk to about the heartache she has left me with. Sad.