The One Not at Peace
Always, throughout your life, you are surrounded by other people. Some you wish you had never met. Most, you are grateful of for some years, until they have fulfilled their role in the plot line of your life. Without pity or remorse, both you and a person of this sort naturally drift apart; for a time, the two of you appreciate each other’s company, walking side by side along the same path, but when the road diverges Destiny separates you from your companion as She guides you toward your own, unique future.
Few. But vital. With these precious ones an indestructible bond is created, a relationship with rewards worth far beyond material or physical gratification. Husbands, wives. Parents. Mentors. Siblings. Dear friends. The passionate care and concern you possess for this person is mutual; it is an immortal flame split between two souls, each half surviving off of the fuel of the other. Unimaginable is the thought of ever losing this sacred one. So painful, it is literally impossible.
But, somehow, the impossible is possible. And the unthinkable is thinkable. Agonizing, although not at first. He can’t be dead. He can’t die. He is immortal, with me. Always. Nothing happened. Yes, this is all a cruel, despicable joke. Has to be. Must be.
You wake from the blissful numbness of dreamless slumber. Reality hits you. Hard. The solid wall begins to deteriorate- one by one, the bricks loosen themselves from the structure and land with a thud on the unforgiving Earth. A delicate drop of ink temporarily disturbs the still surface of crystal-clear water. Seems harmless at first. A small stain. But the solution
slowly spreads, until the pure water is a ruined, murky gray. The Earth comes to a gradual halt.
The empty seat at the table. Questions, comments arise. Not aloud, not yet. Why him? How could God allow this? Did he deserve this? It was his time. Why did he have to go in such a horrible way? He died peacefully.
These are just the preliminary inquiries. You, the victim- the breathing, the surviving, the suffering- feel the need to justify his death. You may blame someone who you despise, consciously legitimizing his death but unconsciously attempting to rationalize your own detestation for this person, whether the hatred is rational or not. However, solace is not found.
Regrets surface. Why did I say that to him? Just wrong. What a mean thing of me to do. It plagues all my thoughts. My dreams. All the time. Without a doubt, I would do anything to go back in time and change that. I’m so, so sorry. I cry myself to sleep every night. Every single night.
This is the point when your anguish causes you to reach a very fragile mental state. Your mind dances on the fine line between sanity and insanity. Overwhelming. Pain. Too much to handle. Almost kills. Mercifully, your thoughts shift from your own suffering to that of your loved ones. How’s Mom holding up? Better than I am. I hope.

Other times, you lose someone with whom you were only somewhat acquainted. Despite the weakness of the relationship she had with you, her death heavily impacts you as well. Only not directly. She was a wife. Her husband mourns. You love her husband. You cry because he cries. You grieve because he grieves. You share his pain.
She had two kids. Three and five. She never came home from work that day. That one day.
Daddy, where’s Mommy?
She’s gone away for a while.
When is she coming back?
Not for a very long time. A very…long….time………

For the most unfortunate ones, funeral preparations are a priority. Not the photos, I can’t handle any pictures. But together, we can do it. Oh my gosh, she looks so young. I remember when this happened. Remember? My, is that- we haven’t seen him in ages. Where is she in this one? Oh my…look at….look at her……..

It is a wide misconception that funerals are ceremonies for the deceased. Rather, while funerals do honor the life and memory of the fallen, they actually serve the attendants of the funeral- the strained, suffering survivors. The dead no longer possess any spiritual connection with any Earthly object or creature. Their shells, their bodies, only remain on this planet. Therefore, the true purpose of a funeral is to provide comfort and closure for the victims, the ones whose eyes fight tears as they struggle to rest upon the content of the casket.

The funeral flew by. Its memory is a blur. You did not give a speech. You knew that if you had attempted to speak, you would have crumbled into pieces in front of everybody. You found it impossible to say his name. It still is.
A woman embraced you.
I am very sorry for your loss.


Thank you.
I understand what you are going through. I know it’s difficult. But trust me, life goes on. It always does.


Okay, thank you.
Difficult? Words cannot describe. She wasn’t sincere. Just said those things because she felt like she should have. What was “polite.” What was “comforting.” How could she
possibly know what I’m going through? Nobody does.
But truly, she does know. Your immense sorrow simply prevents you from realizing this.

Time goes by. Days. Months. A year or two. Does it matter anymore? I don’t know. Can I ever be happy again? I regret not speaking at the service. A cowardly, selfish decision. Still can’t stop thinking about him. Tormenting.
Fortunately, you start to experience positive change. Gradually. First, you verbalize memories about him to loved ones. You have not spoken of him for quite some time. Many years.
Remember his smile? It always lit up the room.


Every year, he wore the ugliest sweater for Christmas. I loved it.
Remember how he always would scream at the T.V. if his team was losing? It’s too quiet around the house now.
I miss his laugh. His weird laugh.

You clean out the garage. A box. No label. Curiosity wins.

It is all of his stuff. Pieces of clothing. Baseball hat. Concert tickets. Yearbooks. And many pictures. Baby pictures. Sports. Prom. Wedding. Vacation with the kids. Everything.

A soft droplet of transparent liquid escapes from your eye and lands silently on the old photograph held in your hand. As you dry your cheek with the back of your other hand, you realize that you have not cried in months. Cleansing tears. Almost of joy. Rebirth.
You are a parent. Memories of your son as a child resurface from the vast sea of lost treasures. You are a wife. Visions of your husband as a handsome young man, so full of life. You are a son. For the first time, you see your father not as a parent, but as a person. A baby demanding all of the attention of a very tired mother. A boy struggling to compete on the field. A rebellious teenager. A hard-working, successful student with a promising future ahead of him.
A loving father, obsessed with his new son.

Years pass. Warmth slowly returns to your heart. Happiness? No. But life regains some of its meaning. Finally. During this time, you gradually acquire a novel perspective on life. One that you will have until the day you die.

Death. Death of loved ones. As terrifying and painful as it is, it happens to us all. I am not alone. It is a part of life. I must learn how to recover from it, because I will experience it again. Multiple times.

Epiphany. More than ninety-nine percent of the world’s population does not even know that this beautiful person existed. Are they lucky? Are they blessed because they do not have to grieve as I do over the death of this outstanding human being? No. I and those who met him are the fortunate ones. We have had the privilege of not just knowing him, but also of loving him, and receiving his love in return.

The sun rises again for the first time in ages, ending an extensive period of darkness. These days, you wake up every morning just before dawn, never missing the sunrise.

You greet Happiness like an old friend.