I grieve

I’ve been sitting here the last couple of hours with a blank document on my tab. I still a peek at it, hoping that a myriad of impeccably intelligent ideas will suddenly ambush my head. I hope that I will finally settle to one trail and a ‘Now you know’ bulb will pop at the side of my head while I let out a geeky smile. I hope that the numerous threads I hold will eventually slow down and that I’ll pick one. I hope that the one I pick will quench my thirst for a good story.

I shake my head profusely in attempt to think harder. It doesn’t work. I check my face book wall for ideas. Nothing ‘cept from some really sad news of my former high school classmate not waking up after a surgery. She is alive but won’t wake up. So I feel even worse. I whisper a prayer at my desk and go through her profile more. She just graduated from Catholic university and the last time I met her, we chatted about hooking her up with a job if I heard something. We should hook up again, this time for a mug of hot chocolate so we can chat of how we have managed to permeate this tough life and how it’s crazy to take ‘Ndubia’ tea. Not because we can’t afford sugar, but because some selfish moron is sieving it. ( I still believe that)

I go through Bing and Google searching for curtains designs and rods. I do this daily but I haven’t seen anything that catches my eye. I call up my husband for help. “I can’t think of something concrete to write on this week” I say to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Worry”

“What about? Pesh is fine. You are totally enjoying your new job. What is there to worry about?”

“Dunno. Maybe my friend Doris.” I explain to him my sick friend’s condition. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not sure I can”. I was avoiding thinking the worst. These thoughts may eventually hunt me down or bite me in the ass.

As I scan through her account I can’t help but wonder if she is subconsciously aware of what we are busy pasting on her wall. Is she taking a tour around wondering why everyone she loves looks murky? Is she trying to reach out to tell us not to cry for her or is she lost in a lone world, clueless and trying to figure out what indeed is going on. Can she hear voices of the people surrounding her? Perhaps she is trapped in a vacuum where she utters words that get choked before she can even let them out.  Does she beg God to give her extra time or is she contented with where she is.

My thoughts trail off to my own space. What would it be if God took me too? What legend would I leave behind? Would people look up my Google accounts to see what I always talked about? Would I have left a permanent mark on my readers? Would there be more readership on my website than all these months combined? Would my friends regret not supporting me? Would my enemies regret not forgiving me? Or would they be glad I’m out of their way?

I shake my head again, this time to get out of this thought before it actually kills me. This is a mere scent of what goes through my mind each time I lose someone I know. No matter how close we are, I still suffer their ordeal. Death is very susceptible. Funny we all head there one way or another. There are those who ask to die and spend years of their lives waiting. There are those who get tired of waiting and throw themselves at it. There are those are scared stiff of it. They don’t think about it.

Whichever way we respond to it, one thing I know for sure is that no one is used to it. The blow is always the same. Damn the feeling of emptiness. It’s like losing a tooth that never had decay and without anaesthesia.

My friend passes on and I don’t need more to keep me disoriented the whole day. I literary feel a sharp pain in my heart when I log in and see her image on everyone’s profile. I know she’s gone and my heart bleeds. Her family must be devastated having been the only daughter to her parents and the only sister to her brothers. If life is this short, then I don’t need to stress myself looking for curtains or rods. I’d rather spend that time loving my enemies and encouraging my friends. I’d rather show my family love and make them smile daily. I’d rather be the best I can so that I can leave a legacy, a mark (a good one) on people’s lives. I have no idea how I just punched 825 words with my brain in auto pilot. I will definitely read this again and again to reassure myself that I’m only human. I wish I’d be in denial, maybe then I’d live in my soft bubble, I’d put her in a coma, and she would be dreaming she would relive her life and capture more glorious moments. She would hear us talk to her and smile in her mind. She would shed a tear at a feel of emotion or move a finger to affirm that she is still with us. I’d feel better knowing that she will not be imprisoned in a wooden box and tucked away six feet under. Problem is that I’d be taking the long way out. I’d have to come back to earth and start the mourning all over again.  So I’d rather mourn now and hope to wake up in the morning feeling better. I can only hope now. Feel free to give me a hug if you meet me this week. This has left me drained but am glad I talked about it.

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