Things They Don't Tell You

There are things about death that people don't talk about. Maybe because it's too difficult to bring up. Or perhaps because everyone deals with death in different ways. Or maybe I'm just really not equipped to deal with death.

They say it gets easier with time, and you know, I suppose they're right. But what they don't say is that it still remains difficult. How you're walking down the street one day, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, and suddenly you're reminded that the person is no longer alive and in your life.

And while some may actually go and forget that person is gone, and will pick up the phone to give them a ring, you never forget. But still you can't help catching yourself in the midst of a thought that starts out in present tense and then ends in the past. Just like they are. In the past, gone, behind in your memories, but no longer living and therefore no longer present.

Or how you'll never know if you really would have wanted to be present at their passing or not. How you hate the fact that you were away, doing something good, something you were supposed to do, but making you absent nonetheless. How you only heard about the last moments of their life from the accounts of others, and the news of death was given through a mobile call.

And how the grief will be so strong, and such a new experience, that you won't know how to deal with it. How you'll still have other emotions like anger and pain, but the good things like happiness and contentment seem to be just a little on the dim side. Or how you'll still laugh at things despite how recent the death is, but you'll laugh louder and longer than you should, showing how you're actually not doing well, and in the midst of all that laughter, you find yourself choking up, wanting to break out into uncontrollable sobs, but keep yourself from doing so, because you know that once you start, you won't be able to stop.

Or how you'll fall asleep at night, thinking of nothing in particular, when it hits you that they're gone, and you're wide awake, crying as silently as you can, because you don't want others to hear you and know how much it hurts.

And how even after a year after death, you still haven't visited the cemetery, because the pain is too much, still too strong, and seeing the reality of it would break you. Or when before you could see death in films and telly shows and it would mean nothing to you, now you have to look away, because it reminds you too much of everything, and you know you'll cry, not because of the scene you're watching, but because of the scene in your own life that it reminds you of.

And of course death is a natural part of life and there is no way to escape it. But there seems to be very few ways to deal with it in a sane manner. Perhaps, though, it is more that I cannot deal with it in a sane manner. And knowing that as I grow older, and become acquainted with more people during my life, it means that I'll see death occur more and more. And this thought terrifies me, because if I can't handle it now, how will I handle it in the future?

There are things that they don't tell you about death. Things that you have to figure out on your own. And it's something you have to do, otherwise the grief and pain and heartbreak will destroy you and leave you as a mere shadow in the darkness of what you once were before in the light.