Today I watched a devastated man kiss his wife goodbye for the last time. I watched her 13 year old daughter crushed as she covered her mother’s face to prepare it for burial. I watched her 8 year old daughter not quite know how to cope or understand what is going on. I watched her 3 year old daughter sucking her dummy and touch her mother’s face. That would be her last memory and in the years to come she would not even remember it...
A house full of people who knew and loved her. A home she had designed and furnished. Her artwork on the walls. Her dream car in the garage. Everything one could want at 36. A life completely on track. All the boxes ticked. Trip to Mecca – check. Charity work – check. Charity foundation established – check. Inspirational blog – check.
If life is a beautiful Persian rug, this would be the moment when a chunk gets ripped from it. The rug would always be breathtakingly beautiful and so terribly flawed at the same time.
We cannot ask why? No answer would come. We cannot choose our time. No one would ever leave. We cannot choose our illnesses, no one would ever be ill. We can only accept. We can only submit. In our submission we let our hearts be free from anger, from disappointment, from hurt. And in our submission we will find the courage to live. We will find the courage to hope.
Slowly the days will increase and move us from this moment when the emotions are tumultuous to a point in the future when we can refer to this memory fondly, without hurt. Where we can look back and smile instead of tear. We never really get over the ones we lose. We just learn to live with it. Like a deep scar. Like a lost limb. We adapt. That’s what we do. We bear the brunt of reality and live in hope and love and positivity. And pray that one day the sun will shine again...
Goodbye my friend, you will be missed far more than you would ever know.
For Adela Arend - http://survivor-journals.blogspot.com/
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