My Sweetest Ashna: Defiantly Happy
My daughter didn't die by suicide. She died by loss of hope and light in a single moment of darkness. Her name is Ashna Wagle. She came into this world on May 11, 2000. I still recall holding her after her birth. A full head of hair with her first sound like a bird chirping. An incredibly magical moment that I wish could have lasted forever. She ended her life on December 16, 2021.
Her name, Ashna, means friend and beloved. She was an incredible daughter to my wife, Rekha, and me and a deeply loving sister to Sarina. To those who knew her, she enriched their lives with meaningful relationships and selfless service (Seva) to others who were less fortunate. She poured her energy and soul into her Seva, especially for the most vulnerable children. To have this natural type of love and energy for another person prepared her as a medical student and future healer.
What I loved the most about my Ashna was her expressive sounds. It started with the most beautiful chirp at birth. Throughout her childhood, her eyes sparkled when she giggled. It was the sweetest sound of joy and playfulness. I often replay her giggle in my head. It still brings a smile to my heart and tears to my eyes. Ashna was such a curious and intelligent student. When she had an epiphany, she would mutter, "Oooh." It was such an endearing sound because I recognized that she had a moment of clarity or awe and would rush to explain to me what she had just grasped. To be honest, her understanding of science and math had far surpassed mine, but she was always kind and endearing, not to make me feel inferior. I only wish I had recorded all her "Ashisms." The absence of her sounds is deafening. I do find solace in the quiet when I hear and see a cardinal. I know it's her telling me she's at peace.
My Ashna suffered from a brain-based disease that caused her moods to swing dramatically and unbearably. It is called bipolar disorder. She rose to the challenge of this disease and fought for years, but fell into a deep abyss that ended her life. She was influenced by her deep love of her cultural roots and memorably had written "Be Defiantly Happy" in a journal entry. I only wish I had understood the depths of that statement, as it reflects this next chapter in my life of conscious grieving. It's important for us to shine a light on the presence of mental illness within the Indian community and bring awareness to the darkness that ignorance causes. The enormity of our loss has no true words to convey the void in our hearts and souls. I often contemplate all the potential lost when she should have experienced continued memories, moments, and magic. Twenty-one years on this earth was not enough.
During our time of greatest darkness, the non-profit Grant Halliburton Foundation connected us with the Grief and Loss Center. My wife and I attended our first Child Loss by Suicide group Zoom meeting and met with the absolute warmth and kindness of Laurie Taylor. Before this, she took the time to speak with us on a phone call, getting to know our Ashna and us as parents. The cadence of her calm, reassuring southern accent instantly placed us at ease. However, we had no idea what emotions would arise during this meeting. Laurie is an incredible moderator who always gently guides the conversation in a safe and insightful way. Never forced, but always protecting the most vulnerable parents. The parents who attend these meetings have the kindest hearts, having experienced the greatest pain. This takes a special human, and I can appreciate her training as a thanatologist.
Here's the thing with my Ashna. I wouldn't trade the love I had for her to bypass the grief. Even in the darkest times, I get to hold on to the love forever. Until I see you again, I love you, Ashna.