Appreciations

December 1, 2005 – my husband was not looking well. To me, he looked pale and not his normal self, usually up and about from the early hours in the morning. My husband, the most disciplined man I have ever met had just concluded organizing his electorate for the recently concluded Presidential elections and even for him, this effort had taken a toll on his health.

When our children heard about this, they wanted to return to Colombo from our estate in Balangoda immediately and, knowing my husband’s dedication to his work, sometimes at the expense of his health, my eldest daughter, Roshan, was to come to Balangoda to take us back.

After speaking to our family doctor in Balangoda, my husband also reluctantly agreed to leave his beloved estate and electorate of Balangoda to come to see a specialist in Colombo. As usual, before he left, he was in his office giving instructions to his secretary and later, with his briefcase in hand, he walked slowly but surely to the car.

In Colombo, my husband had to be admitted to hospital as he was frail. From December 2nd to the 9th, although very sick, he was his usual self - impatient at being confined to hospital but taking life as it came. The doctors and nurses were kind to him and he had time to talk to all – including discussing the state of the country with the boy who brought him his meals and listening to what he had to say.

My husband Aboo was not left alone night or day – I, or one of my daughters, were always with him. His schedule was taken care of with dedication and devotion. Those days were also peaceful for the two of us – sitting together in the comfortable large room watching TV, especially the news. I took pleasure in reading to him from the daily newspapers as he was too tired to read himself.

There were the routine visitors – friends and family. Family and others from Balangoda dropped in to see him and then left, telling people in Balangoda that he looked well and that he would be back soon. This was the routine for those days.

Sadly, on December 10, my husband’s condition took a turn for the worse and his health rapidly deteriorated. My daughters were with him every single moment that day and the next, when he was rapidly tiring but had lots to tell them.

Early on December 11, we were all called to the hospital. As it was a Sunday, everyone was at home and rushed to be beside him. That morning, he looked into my eyes deeply and I did not realize that this would be for the last time. That look in his eyes haunts me still. My husband passed away peacefully that day as peacefully as he had always lived. It was that calm look on his face that was commented on by all who came to his funeral, the thousands of people who had always supported him – shedding tears for a man they could always rely on. The cares of his illness had fallen away and he looked at peace and asleep.

These are all in the past now. One year has flown past and as I write my tribute to him, my memories will never fade. The wonderful life we lived together. Our rapport and the special love he had for me and our daughters and grandchildren and the son–in-laws we considered our sons.

We were married for 55 years and it is still like a beautiful dream to me. Everyday brings new thoughts of my husband and the thought he is no longer with us in person brings much sadness and tears silently shed.

Life has to end for all of us who are born in this world and his was a productive and honourable life that contributed to his family, community and country. It is this thought that reconciles me to his death and keeps me brave and helps me keep his memory and vision alive in the years ahead.