Ashes to ashes-the aftermath
NB: Marked personal.Reader's discretion advised.
I've been staring blankly at the screen for the better part of an hour, wondering if I should actually verbalize this or just let it go.
2nd July 2017. One year to this day.
What do I say? It feels so wrong that this actually happened, and that it happened to someone so good and undeserving of even the least suffering. Even as I say this, I know how unrealistic I'm being. People all over the world die, and she was just another number. Yet another statistic. Just because she was someone close to me, I feel this with so much intensity.
It was all so sudden and traumatic, and that period of one year seems out of some nightmare now. Countless tests, those irradiation sessions. The heart-wrenching vicious cycle of hope followed by despair--till at one point you become numb to both. Sheer helplessness at the face of it.
Having to see someone close to you go through so much and not being able to do a single thing about it. Watching a perfectly independent, cheerful person being shattered gradually till you can't even recognize them anymore. To watch them suffer, over and over, every single day, every single breath, till you feel incapable of any emotion whatsoever.
And then, having lost them, you realize that life goes on. You try on that facade of normalcy, and it isn't so difficult some days. The other days are a different story. You know what the weirdest part about mourning someone is? Screwed up as you are, you try to find your footing once more. You try to get to a normal state eventually, because the emotions are too much to handle on an everyday basis. But when you actually find normalcy, you hate yourself for it. Because you're not supposed to be normal. How could you forget so soon?
In a while, all those emotions are confined to a dark unreachable section of memory. Grief finds an outlet through the chinks in the charade once in a while, and it overwhelms you with its knife sharp intensity. You pore over those events all over again, wondering for the millionth time if there is any meaning to be found in it. But there isn't, is there? The best epiphany you can get out of death is that you treasure the people who are still around, but even that is laced strongly with the poison that is uncertainty.
I've been staring blankly at the screen for the better part of an hour, wondering if I should actually verbalize this or just let it go.
2nd July 2017. One year to this day.
What do I say? It feels so wrong that this actually happened, and that it happened to someone so good and undeserving of even the least suffering. Even as I say this, I know how unrealistic I'm being. People all over the world die, and she was just another number. Yet another statistic. Just because she was someone close to me, I feel this with so much intensity.
It was all so sudden and traumatic, and that period of one year seems out of some nightmare now. Countless tests, those irradiation sessions. The heart-wrenching vicious cycle of hope followed by despair--till at one point you become numb to both. Sheer helplessness at the face of it.
Having to see someone close to you go through so much and not being able to do a single thing about it. Watching a perfectly independent, cheerful person being shattered gradually till you can't even recognize them anymore. To watch them suffer, over and over, every single day, every single breath, till you feel incapable of any emotion whatsoever.
And then, having lost them, you realize that life goes on. You try on that facade of normalcy, and it isn't so difficult some days. The other days are a different story. You know what the weirdest part about mourning someone is? Screwed up as you are, you try to find your footing once more. You try to get to a normal state eventually, because the emotions are too much to handle on an everyday basis. But when you actually find normalcy, you hate yourself for it. Because you're not supposed to be normal. How could you forget so soon?
In a while, all those emotions are confined to a dark unreachable section of memory. Grief finds an outlet through the chinks in the charade once in a while, and it overwhelms you with its knife sharp intensity. You pore over those events all over again, wondering for the millionth time if there is any meaning to be found in it. But there isn't, is there? The best epiphany you can get out of death is that you treasure the people who are still around, but even that is laced strongly with the poison that is uncertainty.
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