What my Papa’s death taught me about purpose

I’m writing out this episode on Father’s Day 2021, almost one month since my Papa passed away. It’s a gorgeous, sunny Sunday with a light breeze and I’m post second dose of my Covid vaccine sitting in my childhood bedroom with the window open and writing because the combination of all these simple pleasures is calling me to reflect. My mom and brother are in the kitchen and living room hanging with my fluffy furbaby Ollie. I've got a Starbucks inspired playlist on in the background to give me all the pre-2020 feels and even though there is so much beauty in this day, we’re truly missing a force in our lives that made our family feel complete. The day is full of some kind of powerful hope, but it’s also a day of sadness and reflection because it’s mixed with a true depth of simple pleasures, with an immense amount of privilege and possibility along with grief and sorrow. One one hand it’s amazing how life just picks up and goes on and on the other, it’s deeply troubling that life just picks up and goes on. 

I tell you, grief is a hell of a process. It creeps up on you in moments when it’s least expected and most inconvenient, yet there are parts of it that feel so necessary. Almost like a validation that you’re human and that your loss is acknowledged within you, that you’re allowed to feel the heaviness of losing the force that is no longer there to add to your life. At times, there is a numbness and an almost disbelief that he’s gone, like any moment he’ll walk through the door and bring his perfect brand of quiet gentleness and kindness into the room again. His stuff, clothes, tools, shoes, toothbrush, wallet are exactly where they were left and not a single one of us is ready to do a single thing with any of it, that would feel too real, that would almost feel like we gave up and gave in to the idea that he’s not coming back. Too sobering and too real to acknowledge. 

Let me tell you a few things about my Papa. His name was Ahmed Noorally. He immigrated to Canada from Karachi, Pakistan over 40 years ago, leaving behind nearly everything and everyone he knew for the possibilities of better, and he was my hero. He worked incredibly hard to make sure my Mom, brother and I had experiences in life and opportunities to do more than he could. He loved my Mom the way I dream of a partner loving me one day, with his whole entire heart. He taught me to navigate the world from a place of gentleness and kindness and his presence was a safe space for me whenever I felt like I didn’t fit in or needed someone who understood me without having to even say a word. He gave me rides anywhere and everywhere I asked, never hesitating for a moment to pick me up from the c-train station, or the airport. He was my go to source for fixing things in my home and car and although he lacked any sort of aesthetic taste - I still have nightmares about his wall paint colour choices - he made a home for us with his sacrifice and relentless desire to care for us. He was an amazing cook, the person who hemmed all my pants for me and used to cut and curl my hair as a child, once giving me a bowl haircut that he took immense pride in that I have plenty of photographic evidence of. He is also the reason I believe in my core that people can change. He transformed into the quiet and gentle human he was from the depths of someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he’s the reason I’m forever an eternal optimist. He was also my beloved dog Ollie’s best friend, bonded instantly from the moment they met, he was known as Grandpa to Ollie and Ollie was Baboo to my Papa. We wished him a Happy Father’s Day together today and I know for sure that he was safely and peacefully looking down to acknowledge it. 

I tell you all of this in part because I want you to know the man that left such an imprint on my heart, because to come to this space is to know me as a whole human, but more importantly for you to glean the lessons and reflection I have pulled from the loss of his physical presence in life, because I believe there is purpose to grief, there is purpose in death and if nothing, it may just be to wake us up to life. 

I remember a few years ago when a dear friend lost her Mom to a long and incredibly courageous battle with cancer, and I had the honour of being invited to her celebration of life. I walked up to her after and made a simple observation that there was something so beautiful about the fact that no one talked about her Mom’s job, what she did for a living, how good she was at her work and career, how she did or did not raise in the ranks of her company, it was truly irrelevant. They talked in depth about what a wonderful mom, sister, wife, daughter and friend she was and no one in that moment could have given a shit about what she owned or accumulated in her life. The conversation was and continues to be on her heart, her kindness and the memories created when she was on earth. That was a lesson for my friend and it never rang truer until May 25th, 2021 for me. To know my Papa was to know a man who served from his heart, who sacrificed for the greater good and who lived to give back, always saying Shukur or thank God for every day he woke up and was able to take on another day. 

In the almost one month since his passing, the wake up call to life for me has never been more present. I see the way people speak of him, I listen to the literal hundreds of conversations my grieving Mother has with the endless stream of phone calls and covid friendly visits from friends and family near and far and I never once have heard a single thing about my Papa’s purpose being tied to anything other than a life of service. 

If you’ve been on this journey with me for any period of time, you might know that I’m on a quest for deeper meaning and purpose in my life, it’s a big part of what drives me to produce this podcast and to make an imprint on the world that has nothing to do with my job title or salary. I don’t know that God will bless me with the opportunity to be a parent myself, I don’t know what my future holds, but I do know that the parts of me that have for so long desired to find meaning and purpose through a job title, a fancier salary and power through things outside of myself are empty and in need of real redirection. Being a child of immigrants is quite a trip - you want to do better than your parents were able to do, you want so badly to make them proud and to show them that their sacrifice was for something, yet when you arrive at some semblance of success, you realize that none of those markers are actually designed to make you happy, they are simply designed to distract you and to make you think you want more. And when the work you do is tied to something outside of yourself, it leaves you feeling empty, restless and seeking to fill the void through things and accomplishments. I read somewhere once that most immigrant parents see happiness as a luxury and yet how ironic that our hustle and push to seek those external markers, things, titles, six figure salaries only distract us from realizing that doing life this way means happiness might also just be a luxury for us too. 

Soon after Papa’s death, the subtle reminders from the Universe started to get more frequent. I haven’t been able to escape the whispers around the idea that there is peace and beauty in a more simple life that isn’t about seeking the next promotion, the next recognition or the next decision to do, be and exist for the sake of being the person and the success story that I was taught to pursue. It calls me to live life on my own terms, to seek meaning and purpose through service and to remove my identity from the work I do, it’s not who I am, it’s not what makes me worthy. I want to invest more in experiences, in relationships, in being fully present and in building things I love and being with the people I love. Absolutely everything else is simply a vehicle to get me closer to that colourful life lived on purpose. 

One of those subtle whispers came in the form of Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday podcast with an episode titled Home based on the teachings and learnings from her book, The Path Made Clear - Discovering Your Life’s Direction and Purpose. In the episode she interviews Mitch Album - the author of Tuesday’s with Morrie - about a series of visits Album made to his former sociology professor Morrie Schwartz, as Schwartz gradually died of ALS. Mitch goes on to say that Morrie said the reason people were unhappy was because they walked through their lives like they were sleepwalking, they were following orders about what they should do with their life based on the culture, and they weren't finding the meaning in their life through giving to other people, being involved with their community, or finding something creative, an outlet for themselves. They were busy trying to be someone else's version of what they thought they should be. 

That stopped me in my tracks, and I feel like its a true call out to all the children of immigrants that hear this to know and be ok with the idea that the sacrifice and the survival mode our parents operated on to give us choices is not lost because you decide to live a more simple life, to stop pursuing the ladder climbing and the path that doesn’t light your soul on fire. I promise you, the pride from them doesn’t come because you’ve marked things off your list of accomplishments in life, it comes from the human being you are, the integrity you carry yourself with, the kindness you show to the world and the markers of your impact through your relationships and your service. That is what makes them truly proud.

As I close off this episode, I want to share something deeply personal and intimate as I hope it serves as a reminder to you of what is possible when you make that step towards your most authentic life with a journey that is based on your dreams, purpose and a life of meaning and service. My incredible therapist Nashina sent me a follow up note after our first  therapy session following the death of Papa, where in our conversation she asked me as we were closing off the session, "What would your Dad say to you if he were listening to our conversation right now here today?" - I said, 

He would be proud

He would say I have all that I need to pursue everything I want

He would say that he believes in me 

Nashina goes on to remind me that these are simple, loving, gracious reminders of who you came from coupled with who you continue to become. You take pieces of him and use them as flashlights to brighten up the path that is already yours to claim.

Ask yourself as you finish off this conversation, how do you want to be remembered, how do you want to make the most of this one precious life, what choices will you make to pull yourself out of your sleepwalking to claim that path that is already yours to claim? 

I miss you Papa with my whole heart. I know we’ll meet again someday. May your soul rest in eternal peace.