Time is a strange thing. It passes and freezes at the same time. It passes and puts days, weeks, months and years between us and that frozen moment, yet time and again we find ourselves standing exactly there with the same amount of pain, each frame vividly alive in front of us. We think that we get past losses as time passes, as we get back to our lives, yet all it takes is one fleeting memory for it to freeze right to where we had started. The wounds are raw and the pain just as fresh.
For the most part, I succeed in pulling myself together and getting back on track. But then, alone at night, amidst faint snores when I get alone in my head and am aimlessly surfing around on social networking sites, all it takes is one picture from the bygone frames, one memory from the remote corners to get that one tear rolling. With the tear comes anger and the same doubt in the existence of God and importance of karma. No question goes answered. All I hear is silence – thick, dark silence weighing down upon my soul. Exhaustion soon takes over and I sleep. The images still follow in disconnected dreams. Morning brings with it another day put between that frozen moment and us. It brings a hurried prayer to God, thanks for the life given to us, followed by a day full of distractions till at night, surrounded by silence, I fight with myself all over again over whether or not there is a God. Or is it something that we have created to instill fear in all us? To make all of us fall in line? Is God really watching?
Yesterday, my ten year old, with teary eyes asked, ‘We are all supposed to be God’s children na, ma?
‘Then how come he takes away his own kids?’
He too asks if there is someone up there or amongst us watching us over? I have no answer to that. All I could do then was, be silent and envelope him. All I can do now is, be silent and be enveloped by the questions that forever stay unanswered.
The worst part of losing someone is the surfacing of ghosts from the past that join you in your grief and suddenly you are not mourning one person but an entire era gone by. So many people who are lost along the way get buried in the layers of time. All it takes is a blow to resurrect them, and have them standing in front of our eyes yet far enough to not feel our grief and taste our tears. And then we have to bury them all over again.
Time never heals. Because, to heal you have to hurt but after a while there seems to be no pain – just a hollow, dark numbness. You want to scream at people who ask you of your loss – ‘what happened?’ ‘How?’ ‘Age?’ So, anger replaces the pain and soon enough we stand here, benumbed. No one ever goes away without taking a piece of us and giving a piece of themselves. With each moment that passes, we are left with shattered parts of a puzzle that we try to put together and achieve some coherence. We try to assimilate these pieces into our soul and miserably fail because each piece is frozen in its own moment in time – away from the other yet connected by that frail thread of sorrow. Sorrow of having lost that was precious to us. Sorrow of not being able to see them ever again, hear their voice or feel their presence. Sorrow that prevents us from believing. Sorrow that keeps our faith alive. Sorrow that prevents us from letting the time pass and sorrow that makes us wish it would just fly.