“The worst type of crying wasn’t the kind everyone could see–the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it. A section withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived. For people like me and Echo, our souls contained more scar tissue than life.”
It has been quite some time since I last wrote here. It’s not intentional but life happens and as the years pass the urge to share my feelings with anyone outside of me subsides. It’s the nature of this journey that I’m on. Never wanted to be here but I wasn’t given a choice.
I’m now into my seventh year of loosing my wife and I wish I could say it’s become easier. It has of course not, grief has changed though, despite the waves crashing into me quite often, I’m able to carry on with my life as if nothing of the sort ever happened. I’m stunned at the ways my mind deceives me.
And yet there are days when it all becomes too bare and too raw again. As with most of us around the world,I’m into self quarantine because the Chinese decided to unleash the coronavirus monster on the world.
I’ve been working full time from home for about two weeks now. Being an introvert,I’m hardly complaining. But a break in the familiar routine has done away with pretentions and exposed me again to grief which suddenly seems all too familiar and raw as it was in the early months and years.
I remember the DABDA – Denial, Anger,Bargaining,Depression and Acceptance. It seemed bizarre when I first chanced upon it. I wasn’t wrong for Elisabeth Kubler Ross who devised the model eventually ended up regretting anything to do with it.
As it often happens, reality is markedly different. My grief journey is my own, as unique as my world once was. It’s mine to walk without comparing with anyone else’s despite what the society may say.
I’m supposed to be done and dusted with this whole grief thing by now, imagine six years and counting. However, as I read somewhere “Grief is all the love that has no place else to go”. In other words, as long as there is love, there will be grief. It’s almost a relief to arrive at that conclusion notwithstanding my pain.
As most of the world has gone into a much needed lock down, the silence in the early mornings and at dusk has started to speak volumes again. I look at the swaying trees in the distance, at the flock of birds and the myriad colors of the sky at dusk and it allows me to once again feel the grief and sadness that I’ve kept within me all these years.
I can’t help wondering how I would have felt without all the pain. I miss the person I was before and though my life has taken a path that only goes forward, I can’t help looking back at all that I was forced to leave behind. It seems so grossly unfair and meaningless.
I fail to see any divine plan or a “things happen for a reason” behind this. I hate the fact that somehow I was the chosen one for such a nonsensical experiment.
I am writing this from my little study which I have started using again. She used to say jokingly that I wanted a room to myself to escape from her and our son. The irony isn’t lost on me as I remember everything that once was from this space.
My sincere prayers for all those who lost loved ones as this dreaded virus ravages the world. Our grief journeys are as eternal as our love. Peace.