No, I can’t say I know how they feel. Their grief is probably like an overflowing river, an unrelenting storm, a bottomless crevasse, a towering inferno, a gaping wound.
When I myself - who haven't seen the family since they left town seven years ago - feel like shaking a fist at the heavens and crying, “It’s not fair!” how would they feel, and what would they give to see him smile again; to hear his giggle; to ruffle his hair; to hug him; to wake him every morning; to gaze into his eyes; to coax him to finish eating; to tell him to turn the television off for the 100th time; to watch him play with his brother; to feel his warm breath; to touch his soft skin as he sleeps at night?
How do you explain to a child that his brother is never coming back; how do you put away your firstborn’s clothes, bed, shoes, car seat, books, favorite toys, his toothbrush?
How do you box seven years’ worth of memories?
I don't ever want to know.
* In memory of Ankit Rangan, November 1998 – April 2006.
Monday, April 24, 2006
In Memoriam*
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3 comments:
There are no words that can help you deal.
My prayers are with you so that you can begin to heal.
-Manav
Ankit was the son of a family friend, a few months younger than Anu. His parents moved away after he was born, but the humans stayed in sporadic touch.
They hung out as a group in the old days, when they were all fresh off the boat newlyweds, lived in the same apartment complex and met for dinner every weekend. Those were the days of potlucks and late nights, filled with the company of good friends and inane chatter.
last month my 29 year old friend lost her husband of six years suddenly. i saw eyes that once held only smiles turn into bland, bleak, desolate pools of unspilling tears.
the enormity of the abyss from the loss of a loved one is beyond words.
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