Noise

       Americans are known for their inability to stand silence.  Most have some kind of background noise going on in their everyday lives, such as music, the television, or even constant chatter.  They do this because they're scared of what the silence may bring.  It depends on the individual what exactly it is they don't want to face.  For silence, you see, means no distractions.  It means that we are forced to listen to our own thoughts, and take whatever may come with their onslaught.

       More and more, I have found myself trying to stay distracted.  Constant music playing, watching show after show, having my thoughts occupied by the shallowness of the repetition of a song, or something else that will keep me from thinking too much.  Although, thinking too much is not what I fear.  Thinking itself is what I wish to prevent.

       How is it that she's been gone for over six months, and it's still as painful as it was the first day she left this world?  Why does every single thought I have eventually bring me back to the memory of hearing about her death?  And how can that one memory make me hurt so much?

       I don't go about my days with every little thing triggering a memory of her.  Rather, I'll be thinking about something completely unrelated, and through a series of one thought leading to another, it all ends up back to that day.  It makes me despise being able to remember anything at all.  I'd forget so much, if I could.

       No one ever talks about how painful death is.  They say that we find peace with Jesus, because we know that our loved ones are with Him.  This is true.  I know without a doubt that she is with Him.  But they leave out how painful it is to try and withstand the absence of their presence here on earth.

       My heart feels as though its been torn to shreds, and will never heal.  Sometimes I'll be doing fine, and then in a moment when my mind is not occupied, it comes rushing back at me.  She's gone.  Forever.

       So why do I do this to myself?  Why do I allow myself to keep such a painful memory on the surface of my mind, instead of burying it deep enough to where I won't recall it so often?  I don't know.  Maybe because I feel that the pain is necessary.  As if I need to remind myself that death is real.  And there's no way to escape it.  And that the older I grow, the more I'll see it in my own life.

       Maybe the only way to get used to death, is by surrounding myself with it.  Placing myself in a position where I'm forced to stare it in the eye, and see others go through it constantly...perhaps this will help me to understand better.  How, I don't know, but it seems as if it's the only thing that will help.

       I'm not terrified of growing old.  I welcome it.  It's the fact that I'll see those I love around me, leave me, just as she did.  And having to go through such an ordeal more than just once...I'm not sure if I can handle it. I'm barely holding myself together these days.  The only thing preventing me from going mad with grief, is all the distractions I force upon myself.  Perhaps it is not healthy to keep myself from thinking too deeply about anything, but it is what I need to survive right now.