Frequently have we treated the people dear to us with less importance when they are yet with us, living among us. We take them for granted not because they are dispensable but because they are too familiar to miss; we know that they’ll be with us for a long time. No matter what, they will be a fixture in our homes, clubs, churches, workplaces or neighborhoods. Their presences are the warmth when we are cold in nights, their reassuring pats on our backs makes us feel secure, their gentle words calm us with the guarantee that someone watches over us, or when alone with the problems we can’t solve on our own, they are there just a call away. We know that, that’s given; but how insensitive we have become not to let them know how we appreciate them. It can be the father or the mother, or both, maybe it’s the friend, the neighbor, the husband, the wife, or the precious children. They kept us sane in this insane world of worries and anxiety.
But life these days are filled with uncertainty, we may never know what is in store for us tomorrow, or tonight, or an hour after. It may be our last, or the end of the ones who are close to us. We may never know. Daily we treat them as if they are not that important because at the back of our minds we are secure they’ll be around.
But what if? What if something happens? What if this is the last time? Would we be treating them as if they are for eternity by our side? Or do we treasure the time spent with them as precious as it should be?
With my best friend, we visited a classmate from high school after hearing that her sister had died of systemic lupus erythematosus (SLE). The place, where the wake was held, was quiet, solemn from hours of mourning the night before. There was deathlike stillness in wakes which were too common not to be observed. I’d been to many, this one was no different. We heard it was so sudden. She’d gone to a coma and never gained consciousness. The tragic part was not only did she die so suddenly but she left her child without any parents to take of her. So it became an obligation for our classmate to take the responsibility as both father and mother at the same time.
We had to wait for some time as she was roused from sleep. When she finally came, her eyes bulged I believe not from lack of sleep but from crying ceaselessly. Our presence, we hoped be a comforting sight for her. Making it a habit to be the first to come after a loss was the only way we thought best to say simply that we cared. And when she opened her mouth to speak, all we could do but listen, allowing her to lay down all the hurts and pains of such loss plainly may somehow lessen the blows.
Sounds of footsteps rushing towards the coffin interrupted our conversation. At the center of the empty room, among the disarrayed, empty seats, the visitor shrieked with muffled shouts of remorse. “Forgive me”, she repeated countless times. Her tears were flowing, and unashamedly, caring less of people around, words that should had been spoken earlier while the dead could respond where given to ears that were not able to listen. “If only I knew this was going to happen”, she spoke with convictions. She continued with her monologue as crowds gathered attracted by her ruckus, some peeped at the windows rubbernecking for the cause of the commotion.
Most of the time I wondered why we have to wait for someone to die or to be separated from us permanently before we learn to speak truthfully; and transparently we verbalize words from our heart of how we appreciate them and how much we love them now that it is less needed. Why not speak it aloud while they are still with us, able to listen and respond. Words that should have inspired, uplift, or encourage given; admiration that should have elicited a response spoken clearly; or flowers that should have excited an emotion furnished. But all too late, though how sincere or heartfelt, the effort seemed hopeless with the recipient cold or distant. Waiting for timing may mean too late; acting properly without reservation may mean much to them and to us.
It is better to love and lost than never loved at all, as they say, should be the motto for any love-wearied cavalier. What he had deep inside that needed release should have been expressed before any fortuitous events steal the time, or the lover from him, leaving a lifetime of wondering. Loveworn and emotionally exhausted, what he had fizzled, empty handed, still out of touch. It should have been expressed, for time waits for no one, just a split second miss for a chance of a lifetime of happiness sought.
For old scars to heal it is high time for old grudges, pains that spanned through decades find resolution. The cause maybe forgotten by time but the wound has never truly healed; the mere mention of the name floods back the malignant emotion of contempt or the sight can damage a fine day. Family ties torn by petty disputes, too insignificant to create a clout; friendships end in a scuffle of who’s right or wrong; relationships severed by pride and unforgiveness. As decades of silence passed, our pride silenced our conscience to bridge the gap, make amends, or extend conciliatory efforts. Our peace offering then only comes when the cold ground in the manicured lawn covered the cold coffin. What a sad sight. This I’ve seen; repeatedly witnessed, occupied my mind once too often in the covering darkness of a silent cemetery. Families only forgive each other when a member dies; though it maybe too late for some but still a light penetrated to the blanketing darkness tells a hope for the living.
But life these days are filled with uncertainty, we may never know what is in store for us tomorrow, or tonight, or an hour after. It may be our last, or the end of the ones who are close to us. We may never know. Daily we treat them as if they are not that important because at the back of our minds we are secure they’ll be around.
But what if? What if something happens? What if this is the last time? Would we be treating them as if they are for eternity by our side? Or do we treasure the time spent with them as precious as it should be?
With my best friend, we visited a classmate from high school after hearing that her sister had died of systemic lupus erythematosus (SLE). The place, where the wake was held, was quiet, solemn from hours of mourning the night before. There was deathlike stillness in wakes which were too common not to be observed. I’d been to many, this one was no different. We heard it was so sudden. She’d gone to a coma and never gained consciousness. The tragic part was not only did she die so suddenly but she left her child without any parents to take of her. So it became an obligation for our classmate to take the responsibility as both father and mother at the same time.
We had to wait for some time as she was roused from sleep. When she finally came, her eyes bulged I believe not from lack of sleep but from crying ceaselessly. Our presence, we hoped be a comforting sight for her. Making it a habit to be the first to come after a loss was the only way we thought best to say simply that we cared. And when she opened her mouth to speak, all we could do but listen, allowing her to lay down all the hurts and pains of such loss plainly may somehow lessen the blows.
Sounds of footsteps rushing towards the coffin interrupted our conversation. At the center of the empty room, among the disarrayed, empty seats, the visitor shrieked with muffled shouts of remorse. “Forgive me”, she repeated countless times. Her tears were flowing, and unashamedly, caring less of people around, words that should had been spoken earlier while the dead could respond where given to ears that were not able to listen. “If only I knew this was going to happen”, she spoke with convictions. She continued with her monologue as crowds gathered attracted by her ruckus, some peeped at the windows rubbernecking for the cause of the commotion.
Most of the time I wondered why we have to wait for someone to die or to be separated from us permanently before we learn to speak truthfully; and transparently we verbalize words from our heart of how we appreciate them and how much we love them now that it is less needed. Why not speak it aloud while they are still with us, able to listen and respond. Words that should have inspired, uplift, or encourage given; admiration that should have elicited a response spoken clearly; or flowers that should have excited an emotion furnished. But all too late, though how sincere or heartfelt, the effort seemed hopeless with the recipient cold or distant. Waiting for timing may mean too late; acting properly without reservation may mean much to them and to us.
It is better to love and lost than never loved at all, as they say, should be the motto for any love-wearied cavalier. What he had deep inside that needed release should have been expressed before any fortuitous events steal the time, or the lover from him, leaving a lifetime of wondering. Loveworn and emotionally exhausted, what he had fizzled, empty handed, still out of touch. It should have been expressed, for time waits for no one, just a split second miss for a chance of a lifetime of happiness sought.
For old scars to heal it is high time for old grudges, pains that spanned through decades find resolution. The cause maybe forgotten by time but the wound has never truly healed; the mere mention of the name floods back the malignant emotion of contempt or the sight can damage a fine day. Family ties torn by petty disputes, too insignificant to create a clout; friendships end in a scuffle of who’s right or wrong; relationships severed by pride and unforgiveness. As decades of silence passed, our pride silenced our conscience to bridge the gap, make amends, or extend conciliatory efforts. Our peace offering then only comes when the cold ground in the manicured lawn covered the cold coffin. What a sad sight. This I’ve seen; repeatedly witnessed, occupied my mind once too often in the covering darkness of a silent cemetery. Families only forgive each other when a member dies; though it maybe too late for some but still a light penetrated to the blanketing darkness tells a hope for the living.
