No Answers

There is something about a childhood memory of a room that is deceiving. When you enter the same room as an adult, it seems much smaller. I am not sure if it is about your size – then and now. But there is something about the dimensions of a room that makes the room seem much smaller when you visit it years later as an adult. Your childhood memory and the reality of dimensions are in significant conflict.

-o-

I was once made to sit in a communications training programme, years ago. We were supposed to become better at communicating. As a rookie, I was quite eager to give it my best. I don’t remember anything of that programme that I paid so much attention to.

Except.

She asked us a question about how we communicate when we visit someone who has had a death in the family. There was a tense, dense silence in the room. She knew the answer to her question. There is an awkwardness that pollutes our minds when facing the one who is alive who is grieving for the dead. We vigourously nodded our heads.

-o-

Unexpected late night calls are the worst. Before phones were commonplace – it was the telegram or the trunk-call, if at all.

-o-

Thankfully I wasn’t drinking that night. I had to drive at 4AM, 60-odd kilometres out of the city to attend her funeral. I had to pick up a relative on the way. There were a million things swimming in the mental pool of confusion. Facts, reality, tomorrow and such are the ways we keep ourselves away from grieving.

-o-

She lived a difficult life. I never saw even a frown on her face.

-o-

Sometimes, there are no answers

-o-

Because I do not know any better, I hope you are in a better place than this. Be in peace.

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3 thoughts on “No Answers

  1. Those conversations are hard indeed. There is loss of the obvious but there is also a little bit of your own existence and the way you knew it that is lost forever. I have always found these conversations difficult but I am beginning to realize that the grieving like ‘normal’ conversation. They need the distraction too.

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  2. Pingback: A Year in Posts « Gaizabonts

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