Of death and of life

For three days now, I have been walking around with the feeling of a heart constantly sinking. The tragedy, the grief of someone, someone a part of me, has been searing me with an intensity I cannot fathom.

With him losing his father, I feel as if I lost someone myself. Someone I could have laughed with, someone I could have known. Someone I thought I would know. Sooner or later. But that was not to be. He died much too early leaving behind shattered lives, lives that will have to weave a new pattern of keeping him alive and yet moving on.

Every day I read of people dying and it fails to move me, as I am sure it is for many. But every grief is personal, searingly so. And as I hugged and held her hand, I felt within me the need to know her, the wish to have her in my life, in however small a way she would let me.

He goes on strong. Vulnerably so. Mature in the way he handles his grief. Expecting it to fall to a set pattern. Knowing when it will hit him and how he could cope with it. I hope it does chart out a familiar path for him, yet knowing perhaps that it wont and that it would stray into darkness.

All of the life led seems so banal, all the pettiness and the idle thoughts of cruelty seem just that- petty and idle- till one is reminded- that there is something bigger than that- death. with its oft-repeated finality occurs and reoccurs. ripping off the permanence of life. hurting you again and again. till life with its temporary healing powers recuperates you.