A year ago today, my dad, Haresh Shah, died on W Division St at St. Mary’s Hospital on the 7th floor room 732 at 83 years old. He died on the day he was to be transferred home and on the day his doctor finally agreed to refer him to hospice care. Kiran, my then 6 year old, and I had arrived in Chicago just days before with the goal of getting him settled back into his bed and home. Close family friends and my cousin Pawan were all planning to come within the next few days/weeks to be with him as it was clear to us that he wouldn’t be returning home with the same level of independence he had had just a month prior.

This post, one year later, will be the last of Down Division. As this year anniversary approached, I thought a lot about my dad and wanted to find a way to mark this day for him, for myself and for anyone else whose lives intersected with his. For those who have been through this process of losing a parent, you may have had the blessing and challenge of going through all of their papers, pictures, boarding passes (dating back to the 90s!), letters, writing, clothes, 10,000 slides (!) and all of the other things that they gathered throughout their lives. I spent a good portion of this past spring, over the course of a few long weekends, sorting through the remnants of my dad’s life both on my own and with dear ones, crying or laughing, sometimes both at the same time.

My dad loved his community in Humbolt Park and adored getting to know all those he interacted with during his daily walks up and down Division from Maplewood over the 16 years he lived in the neighborhood. Sometimes heading east towards all of the shops and other times heading west to meander through the park. In his last few years, his walks continued to be almost daily but there were days when his 8 decades on this planet caught up to him and he would instead, at times begrudgingly, stay home and rest or wait for better weather. This was especially tough for him during lock down when his walks were often the only time he would interact with other humans.

The last month of his life was filled with the community he built in Chicago over decades and food from the restaurants he loved on Division. He continued to get to know folks who worked on Division including his nurses, respiratory therapists, doctors and aids. He watched the World Cup thoroughly entertained that within a day at St. Mary’s he would often be able to talk about the World Cup with folks who were born in 10 different countries. One day I remember in particular, he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said “I feel so blessed.” 

As with all of us, my dad’s life was filled with ups and downs, wonderful and excruciating moments, times of connection and times of conflict. As intense and stubborn as he could be, he was also deeply curious, loving and generous. He saw himself of as a citizen of the world, proudly Indian but also proud to be a Chicagoan and to have lived in Europe multiple times throughout his life. At 83 he could still fluently speak Gujarati, Hindi, English, German, Spanish, Czech and a little bit of many other languages. Travel and reading continued to be two of his top interests throughout his life and two passions that he and I share.  He was unlike anyone else I know and I miss him.

As a way to mark this year, I wanted to share a few images.

My dad as a kid, maybe 7? I see so much of my kids in this photo.

His first passport that gave him permission to leave India by ship to start his next chapter in Europe (look at all of that hair!):

Happy to be back with family in Bombay/Mumbai (80’s?):

Showing his goofy side in the 80’s (even though Christmas was a conflicted holiday for him in many ways). Thanksgiving, as many of you know was his favorite, especially when the house was full of friends from all over the world, good food, wine and beer:

80th birthday in Berlin with Emal, Ketan and I, October 2019, his last international trip although he had been planning to join the kids, Carlo and I in Portugal in January 2023:

Coming into his own as a Nana (grandpa) doing rangoli with the kids for Diwali November 2021:

Our last picture together, November 2022 with a view of Chicago from his window:

He loved the word “azad” meaning freedom, I hope that in whatever the next life or phase holds he, or his soul finds azad and I hope that you all do too, in whatever way feels meaningful to you. 

If you read this and feel a pull, add a comment with a story or memory or picture (if you can do that, I’m not so tech savvy!)

Love,

Anjuli