Nothing makes us feel more fragile and helpless than not being able to reach out to people who matter in times of distress. It leaves one with an aching regret that we tuck away in a quiet dark corner of our being. We’re left thinking about if only life had shaped up differently. We let guilt set in; knowing all the way there is nothing we could have done to alleviate someone’s pain except reach out. We throw our hands helplessly in the air knowing not how to absorb what life’s throwing our way. Until we realize we never had a choice but to accept what life’s given us stoically even if with traces of reluctance.
Yet no matter how expected and foreseeable we can’t escape a sense of loss and the chasm that grief drills into our being. A sense of loss no matter how inevitable still leaves us with a throbbing emptiness. When we lose people who’ve been a part of our lives since we were little children, it feels like our memory and childhood is being amputated slowly. Nothing can punctuate the void again. The irreversibility of it all makes one feel even more abandoned.
We do so much to avoid and ignore pain. (Most of it in vain) We rationalize, deny or lose ourselves in the mindless humdrum of daily activity, yet in those quiet reflective moments the memories come back to haunt us. Nothing can alleviate hurt except yielding to it, allowing tears to wash over one’s soul is perhaps the only way one heals.