My mother, siblings and cousins in India also tried to console me, to no avail. Engulfed with sadness and anger, I could only nod my head when friends offered condolences. My caring mother-in-law and husband cooked food for the family every day for the next two months, while I would sit in my room for hours, staring at a beautiful picture of Lord Krishna, asking, “Why did my father die? Why am I feeling so sad?” Sometimes tears rolled down my face. I found myself hating life every morning. For the following few weeks I was overwhelmed with intense pain, sadness and grief. The difficult karma kept coming, and I fractured my right hand on the journey home. After traveling to India for the funeral rites with my husband, mother-in-law and son, I returned to the US with a heavy heart.
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