We were out in the park last night watching fireworks. After a long time, heard the sounds of kids squealing with excitement. The spectacular show of light and colors took me back to childhood Diwalis. My maternal uncle who I lost to covid recently often came to visit us for Diwali.
He always had an assortment of firecrackers for me - they were not run of the mill things my parents would buy. He put thought and effort into getting things that were different. At dusk, we burst and lit them up together along with other children in the neighborhood. There were always some enthusiastic adults like my uncle who participated as equals and not merely as supervisors to keep us safe. Those were such carefree, happy times - arranging all my firecrackers on the balcony floor so I could enjoy the feeling of bounty and then going through them over the course of the evening, the familiar sulphurous smell in the air as the noise and the lamps died down.
I thought about how life goes, how the memories of loved ones visit unexpectedly as if asking if we still remember. It made me think again of his passing - needlessly tragic and without closure. He did not have a funeral because his wife and children could not summon themselves. My thoughts watching the fireworks on 4th of July made me feel alone in a happy crowd that had come out of celebrate after a long time. Maybe in that crowd there were others like me, mourning their personal losses amid public festivity.
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