Hug People like You Mean It...

02. Gratitude Circle with Avani Patel

Calling All Writers: I've started a new community series called THE GRATITUDE CIRCLE. This series will feature folks who want to share their stories of gratitude and life lessons. I welcome anyone who writes to submit. THE GRATITUDE CIRCLE aims to build community and share my platform with fellow writers, truth-tellers, and everyone else in between who has something to say and share. I’m looking forward to sharing this space with you.

To learn more about how to submit, please refer to this link. 

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Note from Alex: When I read Avani's essay, I was stopped in my tracks. The rawness. The grief. The love. The longing. We were only supposed to have one monthly community submission for this Gratitude Circle series, but I'm not sure I can stick to that. The words that Avani wrote made me change my mind very quickly. I was clinging to every word, tearing up after each sentence. Reflections like this that are deeply personal move mountains of gratitude in me. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do.

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My mother’s best friend likes to visit me in my dreams. Every few months, I get the privilege of seeing Asha. Sometimes it’s just the back of her, sometimes she’s far away, the best times - she’s up close. My favorite. 

Asha Auntie was, to my memory’s best guess, the first woman who consistently said she loved me. My mother loved me deeply, but her love language was not language. Her emotion flowed through acts of service, and home-cooked food. 

Asha’s kids and my older siblings became fast-friends when they were young, and I was often the small appendage that followed. I would even accompany Ma while she visited Asha alone, just grateful to be basking in her essence.

I still recall their modern house - the black and white carpet, cool marble floor, the en-suite dentist’s office her husband once worked out of. I would plop myself in various spaces, trying to pass time as the duo chatted. Their hushed whispers became background noise to my lone endeavors. Some days, my adventure was watching Liar Liar, reclined in the dentist’s chair. Others, it was hours spent with a wooden bead maze. 

Despite the long hours of being alone, I never resented being there, because I knew of the treat that was to come. Before we’d leave, Asha would stop, make it a point to give me a squeeze. She’d grab my face, look into my eyes, and say the words - I love you, beta. Her teeth would flash, and I would blush, not always knowing how to respond. Suddenly warmed down to my deep, gooey center. She was my mother’s best friend, but she felt like something to me, too. An example of loving someone you hardly even know. 

When the Cancer began to strike, I was convinced it wouldn’t last. She was too bright, too strong, to let it take her. Each time we saw her, she would still squeeze me, even tighter, somehow. She kept her cackle for as long as she could manage. I love you beta, she would say – her determined eyes piercing through the black wig’s bangs. “Asha” in Sanskrit translates to “hope,” after all.

It wasn’t until we saw her in the hospital bed that it struck me - this love, this light, will one day be diminished. I still remember leaving the room, unable to hide my sunken face. She couldn’t hug me, but still she mustered, love you beta. 

She left us on December 23rd - exactly one month before my birthday - the day after we landed across the world in India. We sat on the bed, crying - my mother, sister, and I - in disbelief that the inevitable had arrived. 

People often say that the ones who leave us, never really do, and I always thought this was some kind of myth. I thought it was something we say to each other to ease the pain of collective loss. A baseless claim that helps us to not drown. 

Yet every few months, like clockwork, Asha Auntie appears. Like a vision, unmistakable, even from behind. She is radiant - her voluminous black hair shaking as she speaks. Her pearly whites flashing stronger than ever. 

Sometimes I wonder what she might be trying to tell me with each visit. This woman who exuded nothing but pure love. 

And I think - that might be it. 

She is reminding me to be love. To express love. To remember that my light, too, will soon diminish. 

I imagine her saying to me:

Always hug people like you mean it, beta. Flash those pearly whites while you still can. You leave your legacy in the hearts you leave behind. 

Love. Simple, heartbreaking love. 

Thank you for teaching me, and reminding me, who how to be. 

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Avani Patel is a writer, dancer, and coach who currently resides in Atlanta with her husband. You’ll often find her being snooty about coffee, typing half-baked thoughts into her Notes app, or crying at the sight of a tree. Avani anchors playful joy, self-trust, and big love in all that she does. You can connect with her here.

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