When you lose someone close to you, it’s hard to see life the same way again. The event cuts your life into two parts; the life you had before the loss, and the life you have now. The life when hearing a certain song meant something to you and the life where that same song has a completely different sound to it. You listened to the song many times when you were fine and all loved ones were well. Now you hear it when you are torn inside because its lyrics wrapped themselves in new meanings.
The thing about loss is that we wish it’s a nightmare we’ll wake up from. It happens to me the most when I’m driving or doing some chore at the house; suddenly the memory startles me: this actually happened! We lost my aunt!
It’s so difficult to grasp the notion I won’t see her or listen to her stories again.
I know I’m not expected to and it will take time for this pain to stop stinging while I’m not looking. Because this is what grieving it about. It’s about looking alright when you’re not, it’s picking up the pieces of your heart over and over after you thought you mended it with that good cry you had.
Oh how I wish my kids knew you. That’s the most recurring thought I have. I wish I wasn’t so resistant to the fact that we’re in temporary forms, our bodies, and that we’re are more than this suit of clothes that our souls inhabit as my dear Marianne Williamson keeps saying. I believe that death is not the end of her or us. I believe we’re souls on a journey and sometimes the journey is cut short because it’s time to move on.
I want to choose faith, and I say choose as I’m afraid it doesn’t come naturally to me in this case, because faith is the only way to heal and be there for the loved ones we’re lucky to still have around. Life is too short to do otherwise.