There were a few things I had in mind to write about and a few photos of recent events that I’d wanted to put up here, but a few days ago, tragedy had struck one of my dearest friends and suddenly, not much else mattered enough to be talked about at this period of time. I’d dropped almost everything just so I could be there for her, even if that meant minimum sleep and taking a half day off from work for the funeral. I can just imagine how her world came to a total standstill in a matter of minutes; throughout the day, it killed me just a little bit more every time I caught a glimpse of her face – she wore a mask of strength, but every few minutes or so, bits of that mask tore away as her face crumbled with all the pain she was trying to keep in.
It’s odd – when you watch someone go through a painful experience that you’ve gone through before, and you know exactly what they’re feeling; the disarray of thoughts invading their mind, the plethora of emotions they’re drowning in.. You find yourself in an ironic situation where you just can’t find the right words to say, because you know that no amount or expression of words would make things better. You’re not even sure what to do for them to lift their spirits, even if just a little, because you know that at one point of time, nothing anyone said or did could pull you of out of the same tragedy.
You can’t exactly say “things will get better” because that’s not something someone who’d just gone through the pain of losing a parent would want to hear.
You can’t exactly bring comfort food to them and remind them to keep their physical strength up, when hunger isn’t a priority at times like these.
You can’t exactly call everyday to check up on them, because you know that solitude might just be what they crave the most at this time, and the last thing you’d want to do is invade their personal space.
So what do you do? You wait. You wait until they heal themselves. It doesn’t have to be completely, but just enough so they’re able to resume turning the gears of life by themselves. You wait until the wound isn’t as fresh. You wait until that first genuine laugh escapes their lips. You wait until the day their lips pull upwards into a smile that reaches the eyes. You wait, until they’re finally able to accept the tragedy as part & parcel of their journey; when they’re able to jump over that hurdle.
It’s hard to imagine, at this point, that things like these happen for a reason. Things that are out of control; they’re already destined to happen and to catch us by surprise when least expected. It’s hard to imagine that sometimes, we do lose some of the important things in life but only so to gain something else in the future. Something better, who knows? It’s not immediate, but there’s a balance that way.
It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that, when you go through the death of a loved one, life isn’t unfair. Some might choose to keep questioning “Why?” instead of accepting it as part of the bigger picture. Some might choose to be angry. Some might end up losing belief & faith in life itself. Some might choose to live in denial for a long, long time ahead.
I’d like to say outright that things will get better, but I don’t think I can convince anyone fully with that. Can’t even completely convince myself, for that matter; I’d end up contradicting myself entirely. Because the grief will never completely wash over. You will find yourself searching for your lost one in a crowded room, before catching yourself & feeling like a fool for it. You will wake up at night, hoping that it was all just another nightmare, only to realize that the reality you woke up to is the nightmare.
I just hope that my friend will pull through alright. She’s one of those special people whom I wish I could protect from any pain & heartbreak. Words aren’t enough to express how much I wish she wouldn’t hurt this much, this way.
It’s hard, losing a parent to the Grim Reaper… but you’ll be alright. You’ll pull through with enough strength to continue your path of life.
It takes time, but just have faith.
Pax et amor,