It’s almost jocular how death puts everything in perspective. We adhere to rules, regulations and all that jazz because it’s the right thing to do, or so we’re made to believe – it’s convenient after all, isn’t it! While we go about a merry existence, suddenly there’ll be something that shocks us into an awakening like no other.
Death, they say, is a part of life – I disagree! Death is the end of one’s life, not a part of it. I accept that death is a natural end to life, but explain untimely death to me. And save me the clichéd – ‘this is God’s will’, ‘this is how it’s meant to be’, etc., etc., etc. I’m not even going to try and rationalise any of the clichéd reasons, they’re clichés for a reason. But, I’ve finally stopped conforming to what most of us call life.
Life, that morally corrupt occurrence that’s intent on bastardising everyone, is quite a conundrum. Of course, we’re conditioned into being coy about it – rights and wrongs are generalised, which is rather ridiculous, and in the end, when we feel like the thorny vines can get no tighter than they already are, either something breaks us or we break free. Let’s face it, how often have we twisted, turned, mauled, deformed and reformed reason to suit our fancy? The answer/answers could and would shock us if we were to stay true to the question.
Most of life’s romantics, and boy there are so many, will tell us that all of us are constantly on the mend – but as always, I believe otherwise. I believe that most of us are constantly on the break, and that’s not a bad thing at all. It depends on how we look at what we consider mending and breaking.
Here’s my take:
Mending – a phenomenon that allows us to believe that all the little bits and pieces of ourselves need to be together, this is life after all! What does it take for us to stay mended? How many lies will we continue telling to show the world that we’re mended, just like they want us to be, just like we’re all supposed to be! Mended, indeed! We’d like very much to believe that there are just peaches and cream to our personalities, anything else is dark, hell, it’s blasphemous! Well, considering that reality usually takes a good chunk off our derriere ever so often, I’m ready to explore the dark side... what can I say, I love adventure!
Breaking – a phenomenon that’s largely looked down upon by all and sundry. After all, breaking is not the most favourable option. We’re vulnerable, susceptible to accepting (usually in small parts) that perfection is a fallacy, and of course, we come face-to-face with a long-lost friend, someone we’ve run away from, and someone we bury – someone that is our self. I met myself, a self I was in constant search of. I met myself after my dad passed away.
I believed in a higher power, a divine consciousness, God... and then my father passed away, just like that. He was young, healthy, had everything to live for. I saw him walk out of our home, he said he’d be back, and then, in less than two hours, we were left hugging his cold body. And then, I died, just then. Of course, I didn’t know it then, I didn’t know it like I know it now. There’s unfinished business between dad and me – conversations we never had, meals we still have to eat, festivals we still have to spend, dad giving me away the day I get married, dancing with dad at my wedding, dad playing with his grandkids...
Dad, my dad...
I’m aware that I’m not the first person to lose a parent and I certainly won’t be the last, however, the way I lost my parent is something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. The shock of it all is still intact, the reality of it all is in my face, slapping me, almost punching me into existence again. I’ve slapped myself, slapped myself till I was red and in pain, slapped myself to know for sure that this is true, this is happening, this isn’t a nightmare, and this is now.
I’ve had millions of condolences, most of them bounced off me. It’s not just about losing a parent; it’s the shock of losing a parent the way I did, and I shan’t make any excuses for being broken. This is my journey, my loss, my pain, and unless you’ve been on this path of shock, you don’t know. The suddenness of dad’s passing is something I won’t ever get over, I won’t; I’ll learn to live with it in time. And time doesn’t heal; time allows us time to learn to live with what we’re going through.
I sometimes wonder if it would’ve been any easier if my father lived a longer life – somehow I’d always imagined him living beyond 80. It’s an imaginary situation that I’ve tried to kill; however, I don’t think it would have been easier, but I do admit that it would’ve been lovely for him to have seen a lot more because that’s who he was – a lot more.
But that’s me – the self I was so in search of – here, right here, with a whole new belief system. Everything I once believed in has changed. I am broken, capable of breaking even further, and you know what, I’m not diffident about it anymore. Bring it on, I say, and then, just when life believes it can’t break me anymore, I shall rise one broken piece at a time, crying if I have to, bleeding if I need to, but moving on broken pieces and all.
Rejoicing in each and every piece that bled... rejoicing in strength like no other, rejoicing in myself.
Mend? We don’t ever mend, we change, we grow, we mature, but we don’t mend. Time to don those hot red stilettos and give ‘mend’ the hiding of a lifetime – I’m so broken, but hell I’m strong... getting stronger.
The self I was so in search of is revealing herself to me... one broken piece at a time!
Death, you’ve introduced me to myself.
P.S: Nothing shocks me anymore, nothing at all. Every happening is preceded by forewarning; every occurrence is often a result of deep rooted pain, one that should never be judged, but one that should be heard out.
