When someone dies, we all know what the waiting and mourning period is. It’s like an in built program. We cry the first day and it hurts like hell. We cry the second day too. By the third day, a sort of hysterical relief kicks in. We find our selves laughing crazily at stupid things. Then slowly but surely the storm starts to pass. We get comfortably numb, and yet, we never forget. A little gesture, a forgotten scent, anything can spark a flood of memories and the dull, silent ache is right there, in your heart.
It’s all right. Like I said, that’s how we’re programmed. We learn to accept death. We know how long to mourn, how long it’s supposed to hurt; how long it’s acceptable to cry about it; when the broken heart should mend.
But what is the mourning period for a loved one lost, not to death, but in the countless unmarked streets of life? How long should we hurt? When should the heart forget? Should we wait, clasping the hurt to ourselves, or should we give it up and accept the absolute presence of absence?
I only wish this was an inbuilt program too.
“With searching comes loss, and the presence of absence.”
It’s all right. Like I said, that’s how we’re programmed. We learn to accept death. We know how long to mourn, how long it’s supposed to hurt; how long it’s acceptable to cry about it; when the broken heart should mend.
But what is the mourning period for a loved one lost, not to death, but in the countless unmarked streets of life? How long should we hurt? When should the heart forget? Should we wait, clasping the hurt to ourselves, or should we give it up and accept the absolute presence of absence?
I only wish this was an inbuilt program too.
“With searching comes loss, and the presence of absence.”
4 comments:
I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken -- and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as I lived.
-M.M
I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken -- and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as I lived.
-M.M
That's beautiful.
I wish it was built-in too... or that it even had a smaller timescale..
it took me almost a year to accept and give in to the fact that it's lost..
but now, the relief has finally come.
you've managed to put into words, a concept that i've been thinking about for quite sometime now... thank you.
Post a Comment