Dear Readers,

As I write this, my heart is burdened with mountainous grief - my father passed away on Monday. His departure was sudden and traumatic. Despite battling a terminal illness, his doctors had conveyed optimism about his recovery. I find myself in a perpetual state of dissociation and disbelief, enveloped in a heavy mass of emotional pain. I feel disconnected from myself, my head weighed down, my eyes weary, and my throat perennially parched, perhaps for want of words.

My family and I are adrift in sorrow, grappling with the absence of my father, who departed without a word or indication of how to navigate this dark realm of grief. I feel rooted to the ground, as though my being has intertwined with the somber realities surrounding me. It's a place of hopelessness and desolation where I currently reside.

As I move to find my bearings amidst this anguish and loss, I seek to emerge with something meaningful from such profound suffering. I recognize the necessity of taking a sabbatical to process this trauma, and I am profoundly thankful for your support in my endeavors here. Allow me to leave you with the words of Emily Dickinson, for who better than her to distill grief into poetry.

Much Love,
Swarna

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –