In the eye of a child, the old man in the morgue was just sleeping and he would wake up at breakfast time. In the eye of a 70 year old woman lies the cleanest, most peaceful and calm countenance of an octogenarian free from pain and cares of this world. His handsome face, attributed to genetics does not show his age, maybe to a long intake of vegetable and fruit juices.
The following days seemed like ordinary events to the little girl as she played with cousins and enjoyed giving out candies to those who condoled, talked with them in her Irish accent, giggled with childish laughter as she moved about from one acquaintance to another. To me, the hours stood still as I concealed the grief with smiles to those who came and sympathised with the family. So many things to be accomplished in just a short time. An adrenaline rush gave me the impetus to make things in its right perspective but the time was ticking by and the inevitable day came.
The child saw and maybe realized for the first time that one who was gone would be under the ground as she witnessed the hearse made its way slowly down, down the open ground. It was soon covered by the earth and could be seen no more. To me, the word "gone" signalled the cessation of a long time partnership, the end to loving disagreements which could easily be patched up. No more travels together nor view sunsets in different places here and abroad, no one to enjoy retirement years with, no one to tell tales which had been repeated for a hundred times, no one to share my simple stories of joys and woes. It would be the beginning of a "deafening silence" every time I arrived home from the outside world.
One by one visitors left and torrents of tears flowed out to wash my eyes and cleanse my soul. Past experiences and readings jumped from the pages and came alive as reality that haunted me on the face. I knew then that "life is a vapor and a mist that appear for a short time and then are heard no more". But I still wished the mist hovered above the horizon a little bit more and the vapor rested where it was.
Just now my sister shared to me this post, "WOMEN ARE STRONG, not because they never break but because they know how to pick up the pieces and put themselves back together again". He left ahead of me knowing that I could lead my life alone. I could put back the broken pieces and make them whole again despite the scars. He believed in my strength. He has built that confidence in me for so long by allowing me to pursue my own creativity and talent. Now I am armed with his love.
Let God and not men be the judge, we can see grandpa in that morning, dear granddaughter!