Light will always find a way.
Hello, I’m back again.
Let’s finish up with the niceties first. How are you? I hope you’re doing fine. Well, I am.
I was stuck in a never-ending (obviously it did end though) traffic-jam today. Ha! Isn’t that exactly how we feel when we’re stuck in a pathetic phase in our life? Like the tough part is never, ever going to end?
Sorry, I didn’t mean to go all philosophical on you.
I just returned home after a crazy evening. Do you like donuts? Because I had a lot of them.
So, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever been grief-stricken? Not sad, I mean grief-struck, struck by grief? I hope you haven’t, I hope you never will.
I promise to write to you about happy things tomorrow, But for today, I’ll write to you about being grief-struck.
I used to think sadness was… well, sad… then I happened to meet grief, one casual night at the emergency ward of the veterinary hospital. It took exactly 20 minutes for things to escalate and then 5-minutes for it to all fall flat.
It was a Sunday night. I was already in the mood for an epic Monday, you know… my weekly off. But things weren’t going to be as rad as I thought.
I like how the brain is so protective of us. It tries to hide all the terrible memories. Slowly revealing them to you at times, when it thinks you’re ready to view them.
Anyway, as I stepped out of my just parked vehicle today, the sudden stench of medicines hit me. The urge to puke was so strong that I had to run home. The ride in the elevator took me back to that particular night at the hospital.
I knew sadness, but then I met her louder and less prettier cousin Grief.
The drive back home was the worst. Four of us left home, but only three returned. I wish I could tell you how I feel. I really do. But words fail me.
But you know what’s the worse part of it all? It’s not the night. The night is when you’re still in shock. When your mind and heart don’t tell you what happened. The painful part is the next morning. And it will always be. That’s when your mind is clear and you know that it wasn’t a nightmare.
That morning marks the beginning of many more such mornings. At first you cry till you can’t. Then you’ll have to be strong for everyone else at home. You’ll have to take calls from your mum, who’ll try to speak to you, but her sobbing will only leave you sadder. Your dad doesn’t crack his lame jokes and your home will feel empty. Do you know how much I loved Jacqueline? She was more than a pet. She was a sibling.
And that’s how it’ll be. I wish I could tell you that we feel grief all at once. I wish I could tell you, that there would be a cloud-burst of pain and then, just like it started, the water would slowly reside.
But, grief is much more than that.
It’ll reveal itself slowly.
One day at a time, one memory at a time.