“Every man must do two things alone; he must do his own believing and his own dying.” Martin Luther
The death of a loved one evokes primal emotions. Closer the deceased to you, stronger the sentiment. Loss of life isn’t just the death of a person in the clinical sense of the word. For the anguished souls left behind it is the loss of a lifetime shared together. A sense of suffering so deep that it often takes years to heal. The crushing pain which accompanies the weight of sorrow may bend in front of the towering force of time and reduce its echo, but the murmur of pain still remains.
Sorrow, heartache and helplessness can use the vulnerability of a desolate soul to quickly transform themselves into anger, frustration and even hate.
Grief explodes. A range of consuming, powerful feelings form a tidal wave which seems to pull us down under. It is then that deep wounds long-buried under the sands of time resurface. Lacerations of hurt healed over the years begin to throb with renewed discomfort.
Is it wrong to feel this way? Are my emotions misplaced and unwarranted?
Why aren’t others feeling the same intensity of anguish? Is their sense of loss not as monumental as mine?
How is everyone ready to quickly move on from burning bereavement to calm acceptance? It seems there is a rush to expedite the healing process and move on. Why?
Can the period of mourning simply be structured according to dates and time? Does the expression of sorrow need to conform to the bidding of society?
Unsolicited thoughts, unanswered questions can haunt the very core of our being.The human mind has proved its ability to create ways to traverse space and yet at times is unable to navigate its own abyss of darkness. And yet we prevail. Yes, even in the most fragile moments of life the human mind has the capacity and the capability to disintegrate itself only to emerge wiser and stronger.
The triumph of the human mind is not in its innumerable creations visible to the eye but in the unseen internal victories it quietly celebrates.
It’s true moment of glory is not on the world stage but in the familiar comfort of its own bed where it learns each day how best to live in peace within its own shadows. Its success is not defined by the accolades it accumulates but by the skill with which it tides over. Resurrecting itself over and over again.
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