 |
| They are never gone as long as you never stop remembering. |
Is death really the end? The place of no return?
Perhaps. Or maybe, there’s something worse than death. For
instance, the end of remembrance. Perhaps forgetting someone is more
painful than death.
I have often wondered how different people are afforded contrasting
times in this world. We grow up immune to the notion of death until she hits us
right where it hurts the most. We expect some special people in our lives to
hold our hands forever, through the darkness and the light.
But isn’t forever an illusion, a vague, misleading concept
created by man? Because sometimes people are forced to abandon you in the
middle of the road when you expect them to stay. Sometimes their journey ends
abruptly when you were hoping to cross the bridge together.
And you are left behind, at the edge of the river, all on
your own.
On this day, decades ago, my cousin sister was born. I remember her
kindness and warmth. I remember meals shared over dining tables years ago, and
the music we'd listen to together. Sitting wide-eyed, listening to her speak. She
was the shepherd and I the sheep, following her around all day. My tiny world
was a magical place thanks to her art, her songs, her encouraging words.
She was the sparkling moon of our star-studded sky, the
brightest flower of the garden. Gentle like the winter’s sun on a December
dawn.
And she was taken away too soon, leaving us clinging on to
the memories.
Perhaps it is imprudent to indulge in the years gone by on a
loop for days, months, years. Because memories, like life, have their share of
the good and the bad. Some make us happy and lift our mood. Others tend to feed
the void in the heart that has refused to cease through the years.
It is this paradox of remembrance that has me broken. Me and
perhaps millions of me.
And yet we soldier on, even though sometimes this life we
lead appears insignificant when compared to what could have been. As the years
go by and our hairs turn grey and our skin wrinkles and our teeth begin to rot,
these people stay the same, untouched by the tides of time. They smile at us
through yellow pictures clinging to the walls.
We celebrate birthdays and they stay immune to the burdens
of age.
So why do we keep thinking of them? Why remember them when
those memories hurt more than they heal? Why do we hold on to our dear ones in our
hearts, never willing to let go?
Perhaps because Death isn’t the end. Because the ones you
love, live within you when you continue to make them a part of your lives. When
you remember them in your joys, your bright days. When you realize that the
pains wouldn't hurt so much had they been around to hold your hand. When you
think of them when you have news to share or something you have no one to share
with.
Happy Birthday, Tuttu. I shall never forget you. Never, ever.
