#596 A Gift of Life

 A Gift of Life

The greatest gift of life is life itself!

                                                    Photo by Lina Trochez on Unsplash

 

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025 

Part -1

Back to those days of the early 90s, a man, call him A, rushed to the hospital from his office when he got the news that his wife was going into labour.

A’s wife was pregnant with twins. So, the doctor suspected it to be an early delivery or emergency C-section and asked him to buy some necessary stuff from the market.

When A returned to the hospital with all the stuff that he purchased, the doctor informed him that a woman had just been admitted and needed to go through an emergency C-section. While his husband was away managing money, A gave away the stuff he had just bought for his wife's delivery, along with a cash of Rs 800. (Mind the value of Rs 800 in the early 90s)

A was blessed with twins with a normal delivery and no complications, while the lady was blessed with a son, as the doctor informed him.

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Part — 2

24.08.2025

I came across chilling news of a man carrying his dead newborn child in a bag, which is often used to carry vegetables from the market, and complaining in a police station about the negligence of doctors.

He reported that the doctor refused to admit his wife, as he could not pay the entire medical expense, and they were adamant about not even receiving a fraction of the medical expense on repeated insistence.

As a result of such negligence in the emergency, his child died during his wife’s delivery—shame on such doctors who are devils, not saviours, for such an inhumane act.

Imagine the trauma of losing a child, and adding to that are the rounds of visiting the police station and fighting for justice in a country where the entire system of law and order is a joke!

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I narrated the above news in Part 2 to my father on a call and got to know about the incident in Part 1. I was so moved to learn that A was my father, as the twins were us, Swati Sarangi and Sweta Sarangi, and my father selflessly gave someone the biggest gift: the gift of life.

That boy, born on that day, must be of our age, unaware of this gift of life that he received from a middle-class man, but with a heart full of compassion and kindness.

For many years of our lives, we unknowingly received immense care, protection from the Almighty and could live a peaceful life away from pretense or unnecessary noise.

Maybe it was for this kindness that my father received a gift of life for himself, having met death so closely and escaped from it by God’s grace, later in his life.

Maybe we were unaware of the blessings as gifts that we received as the return gifts for innumerable instances in our lives, for the kindness that our father showed that day!

© All Rights Reserved!
Swati Sarangi 
26.08.2025 
You can support my work through Buy me a Coffee.

 

#595 The word that I love the most

 The word that I love the most

The image has been generated by the Author using GROK 

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025 

Being someone who has been writing for almost half of her life, words mean a lot to me. I just love them as much as I love any other thing.

I feel that I have an intense obsession with words and how they’re used. When words are used with care and positive intention, they leave an imprint on the minds of the readers/listeners for a lifetime.

Words are very powerful and have a transformative effect that one can never deny.

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As a believer in positive energy bringing positive changes in lives, the word that resonates the most with me is gratitude.

Gratitude is a state of mind that lets one acknowledge everything one has in one’s life, with a positive mindset. This state can be generated by overlooking what one lacks.

Being grateful not just shifts one's perspective towards life by helping one witness the extraordinary in ordinary things, but it can transform the average narratives of anyone’s life.

A grateful heart and mind never shy away from accepting miracles that may enter into his/her life at any time because the practice of gratitude aligns their frequencies with the frequencies of the Universe!

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If I reflect on my life, I realize that it was this attitude of gratitude that helped me sail through challenging phases of my life.

I may not have everything in my life, at the moment, that I wish for, but I have a million reasons to feel grateful for.

Starting the feeling of gratitude with a healthy heart that beats and is the reason for my existence, then this feeling of gratitude spreads to other areas of my life, like feeling grateful for the bare minimum things like having a roof over my head, eating healthy food, and comfortable clothes.

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Writing has always amplified my sense of being grateful. As a writer of non-fiction, my writings are inspired by elements that constitute my day-to-day life.

I developed a habit of observing everything in my surroundings and made them a part of my writing. I started enjoying my writing as it picked up its momentum when the process of appreciating the constituents of my surroundings became usual.

The more I write, the more I feel grateful for everything in my life.

This month, I created a habit tracker to track my habits. Along with that, I dedicated a page to writing the “best moment of the day”. I’ve allotted a line to each day, and at the end of the day, I reflect on my day and pick up the best moment of the day.

From feeling stuck in a situation over which I have no control to finding the peace within myself, my life has changed.

Even though it is difficult to feel grateful about the situations of loss resulting in grief, the practice of gratitude for other things helps in easing the grief.

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As I write this story, I must not forget to show gratitude to the host of this writing challenge — Chrysa Stergiou, without whom I would have missed a chance to reflect on one of the most enjoyable activities for me: writing.

Grateful for this life 
And the elements in it,
For God has created them
With purposes hidden,
All of them seem useful,
When my mind is grateful,
And my heart is receptive
To all miracles which 
Are about to appear
All of a sudden or
One at a time.

©All Rights Reserved!

 Swati Sarangi 
23.10.2025 

You can support my work through Buy me a Coffee.

 

#594 Healing Without Talking

 Healing Without Talking

                                                        Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025 

I don’t know how to heal without talking, 
Without communicating when your
Only channel of verbal communication
Is externally blocked by fear and insecurities.

 

When the four walls of the room
Can no longer contain your anxiety,
I seem to be doing fine, but
Something inside me is dying.

 

The only solace I get is from
My writing, these words that would be
Read by strangers I’ve never known,
Or I might never meet in my life.

 

My mind wanders in the silent
Dutch streets, which once gave me space;
A sense of freedom in a foreign land
Things to observe and fresh air to breathe.

 

Dreams at night take me to the places
Where I feel liberated and safe
And I no longer have to pretend to be alright,
I smile without being forced.

 

Sometimes, random people can read
Your emotions more than who you live with,
Or maybe the vibes that I emanate,
Match with their empathetic state.

 

I keep coming to writing over and over again,
It is as if speaking to an imaginary friend,
Sharing what my heart wants to say,
Without being judged or constrained.

 

I want to talk and express because I am not
An emotionless robot or a puppet 
A few countable words that I can speak,
Need to be heard with compassion and patience.

 

When a part of me still grieves,
Grieving from the loss of a gift,
The gift of a lifetime and memories 
That’s no longer mine.

 

Sometimes, I feel lost for losing my life
To uncertainties on which I have no control,
The sun rises and sets the usual way,
Turning the pages of the calendar.

 

All I can do, at the moment, is to 
Seek divine refuge that can listen
And address my worries to
Provide a solution that I might never find.

© All Rights Reserved!
 Swati Sarangi
03.09.2025

You can support my work through Buy me a Coffee.

 

#593 August Rains like Shields

 August Rains like Shields

Photo by Mitchell McCleary on Unsplash

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025 

August rains from a gloomy sky, 
Symbolizing the state of my heart and mind,
I look quiet from the outside, but there’s
A commotion within me, 
In the backdrop of pitter-patter.

 

I’m crying while my tears are invisible, 
Neither can someone see them nor
Hear me cry as I suppress my emotions,
For they haven’t found a place
To stay safe or be accepted.

 

When the anguish of my mind lets out a roar,
I take out my diary and start writing,
Writing with all my heart and never to stop,
Untill my mind silences or my hand gives up
For not hiding my emotions.

 

August brought a handful of festivals,
To celebrate with the family and friends,
But I found no joy in them as my mind
Was engrossed in believing in the possibility
Of what could have happened.

August rains were like my silent tears,
Dropping from heaven as precious as pearls,
Not many can decipher the reasons
And mistaken it as something pleasant
When the divine intentions are unknown.

 

 

I will always remember August for the gift
That could’ve been mine; a blessing for a lifetime,
But how can I forgive it when it promised
To give me something, and the next moment,
Snatched away from me for no reason?

 

 

I was waiting and waiting eagerly,
Until my wait wasn’t rewarded,
My patience was utterly tested, but then
I can’t complain about the fairness of life
When I have no control over it.

 

 

This process of healing after loss
Is neither simple nor linear.
When I think I’m ready for a new beginning,
I get drowned in the waves of intense grief,
As if nothing had changed since that unfortunate event.

August rains were acting like shields, 
Under whom I could cry endlessly,
With no one to pester me or suggest to me
The way to heal, as I knew, that a part
Of me got so broken to be fixed in the future.

© All Rights Reserved!
Swati Sarangi
22.08.2025

#592 Night Sky and a Shooting Star

 Night Sky and a Shooting Star

The image has been generated by the Author using GROK

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025 

I saw a shooting star
I closed my eyes and prayed hard,
To get back what I lost, 
The grief of which just can’t be told,
Fireflies are like stars on ground, 
Bright, tiny, or round?

 

Immersing myself in a love
That I had never felt before,
How blessed my life seemed to be,
Just a few days before,
They say, “It’s a divine plan.”
I wish I could at least ban(it).

 

The hope that the night sky gave
Like a million memories to save
Moments are like stars in mind,
They come and go when they can
All I imagined was a parallel Universe,
Happy feelings but with tears.

 

A Universe where I can enter,
To witness everything happening
At the time, when it couldn’t 
Happen in the world I live in
Soaked up in the aura of gratitude,
I chose my present, to continue.

If you can read between these lines,
You’re so empathetic
‘Cause that might not seem so easy,
As it’s so cryptic in reality,
Could the reason for my grief be unveiled?
Or something that others can feel?

 

I saw a shooting star,
I closed my eyes and dreamed hard,
Just met him in my dream, whom I lost
Sharing moments of immense love
That heals my heart a bit more,
The closure that I was looking for.

© All Rights Reserved!
Swati Sarangi,
07.04.2025
You can support my work through Buy Me a Coffee.

 

#591 Wave of Light 🕯️

Wave of Light 🕯️

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025 

While October is a month of festivals, it is also observed as the month of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.

Not many would be aware of it, but there exist many women who are mothers without babies in their arms to show the world because their babies left them too soon, either during pregnancy or stillborn, or destiny snatched them for unknown reasons.

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Image taken by the Author ; a candle of remembrance

15th October is observed as Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, which includes miscarriage, stillbirth, SIDS, ectopic pregnancy, termination for medical reasons,[1] and the death of a newborn[2][3].

On this day, everyone lights a candle at 7 PM in their respective time zones in honor of their babies. It is observed in the USA, UK, Canada, and Australia.

Statistics say that every 1 out of 4 individuals or families live with these life-altering experiences of loss caused during pregnancy, childbirth, or infant loss.

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Image taken by the Author ; Mary Van Jesserkerk

I am one of those loss-moms, and my baby left for heaven too soon this year. Despite every report coming normal, I lost my baby, halfway through my first pregnancy, to unexplained reasons.

I am grieving silently, in my own way. I didn’t light a candle on 15th October, but I’ve lit one a month after my baby left for his heavenly abode and lit many in church.

I miss my baby every single day and will continue to do so. This has created an inexplicable void in my life.

One of the most heart-wrenching scenes that keeps replaying in my mind over and over again is leaving my baby at the hospital and preparing for his funeral on the day when the world was celebrating the auspicious Holi! All this happened in a foreign land without the immediate support of my family. Sometimes, I wished all these were just bad dreams!

I am grateful to the healthcare system that supported me during this difficult time, and of course, there are higher powers that always stand with me, irrespective of any circumstances.

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Source : crosscards

Pregnancy is a wonderful phase leading to motherhood. The feeling of witnessing a life growing within yourself is nothing less than a miracle. When this journey of 9 months ends abruptly somewhere before the finish line, without any prior warning or explanation, it brings unfathomable grief.

No matter how far someone is in her journey of pregnancy, every loss has a devastating impact. I feel that a woman suffers more than a man from this loss, as a lot of things have happened to her physically and mentally. She is often judged and blamed for no mistake of hers.

If you ever encounter a grieving mother or parents, please don’t judge them. If you can, please lend your empathetic ears to them and give them a space to heal. They have been holding a lot within themselves and trying to fix everything silently, even though most of the things are out of their control.

Don’t ask them about their next pregnancy plan or give them suggestions because they need space and time to heal, and a lot of things are out of their control, too.

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I came across The Fair Work Amendment (Baby Priya’s) Bill, which was passed recently by the Australian Government.

The Bill introduces a new principle into the Fair Work Act that unless employers and employees have expressly agreed otherwise, employer-funded paid parental leave must not be cancelled because a child is stillborn or dies.

Baby Priya, who was with us for just 42 days, has left behind a powerful legacy of support for grieving parents. I truly hope that governments around the world will adopt similar measures to offer such compassion and care.

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Source : sleepingangel

Who can write more about that grief than I, having hit rock bottom a few months ago? Every day, I make efforts to heal, but it is not easy to overcome one of the hardest feelings in the world: to outlive one's own children. This loss is a loss of a lifetime and an irreplaceable one.

I am learning to sail through this grief, one day at a time, while thanking my angel baby who gave me the joy of motherhood, even for a brief time.

To my angel baby, 
You were and you will always be a part of me.

© All Rights Reserved!
Swati Sarangi 

15.10.2025 
You can support my work through Buy me a Coffee.

 

#590 What the mirror knows

What the Mirror Knows

What the world doesn’t

Photo by Manuel Schinner on Unsplash

Everyone Congratulated her,
As she announced the arrival,
Of a new tiny addition to her family,
With little fingers and toes.

But what others don’t know,
The mirror of her dressing table knows,
The mirror which saw her beaming 
With love and smiling ear to ear.

It knows that her arm that holds,
A tiny baby which has fallen asleep, 
Could’ve held another lil bigger than
What she’s holding now.

The mirror saw her weaving dreams
Of motherhood for the first time,
When she stood before it 
And caressing her baby bump.

The mirror too witnessed that
Unfortunate day when she cried
In pain of labour which was 
Supposed to come many months later.

The mirror also saw her holding
A tiny baby, attached to her body,
But he was neither crying,
Nor making any movement.

The baby born was standstill,
In the apartment where she lived,
She was broken into thousand pieces
And the grief that came hitting by.

A few days later, mirror saw her again,
But pale and lifeless, empty hand and mind,
Often breaking down between tasks,
Or staring at herself through the reflection.

The mirror saw how a happy,
And a hopeful girl started doubting,
Every miracle coming her way,
Fearing it might be short-lived.

The mirror saw her slipping into
A state of life that was no longer exciting,
Hours turning to days and days to weeks,
Untill many months passed by.

But she wanted to live again,
To have control over her life,
The mirror saw her putting slow
But steady efforts for a comeback.

The mirror saw her smiling 
For the first time in months,
But with a fearful heart, finger crossed
About her destiny to unfold.

This time, mirror was not just an observer,
It tried to amplify her hopes,
As her fears should be diminished
She should learn to let go.

It wasn’t easy for her but
The mirror witnessed her healing,
Her journey of healing through words and
Making music her companion.

Before the world could see,
The mirror celebrated her joy
While grieving for the one who left,
And treasuring his memory in heart.

Image has been generated by the Author using AI tool ; GROK

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025 

© All Rights Reserved!
Swati Sarangi 
30.09.2025  
You can support my work through Buy me a Coffee.

P.S: It’s a poem dedicated to the grieving moms who lost their children. It’s an extremely difficult situation for any parent when they outlive their children, but destiny has plans that can’t be understood by many. It’s just how it is.