Two years
What if those you held most dear, but who are not in this physical world anymore, were able to return for a day? One day only?
Let's say this day can be predecided. What would I do on my day with you? I could keep telling you how much I miss you and need you, but you already know that because I tell you everyday. You could tell me you watch over me and I needn't worry, but I know that already. I could ask you for your wisdom and guidance on how I should live my life and if I'm living it right. But you've already told me and taught me all I ever need to know. I try hard to live that life, but I do fail sometimes and blame it on being human. It becomes easier and easier to forget and make excuses...so maybe our day together would help me put myself back together again.
If there's nothing much to say, I could just hold your hand and lean my head against yours, like I used to do most evenings. We could just sit there in silence and feel perfectly content, like we used to do more and more as you lost your sight and hearing, but not the sharpness of your mind. Actually, it was a bit of that amazing sharpness and intellectual curiosity, even at that age and inspite of rapidly diminishing faculties, that I was secretly hoping to absorb by leaning my head against yours.
But each minute that passes would bring the moment you leave again closer. I would start to worry, and every moment from then on would be increasingly tinged with sadness. Then panic, then a maniacal refusal to let you go. And I would waste those precious last minutes fighting, begging, pleading, arguing, bargaining. And then, you would smile and be gone. And I would be left with the pain. The same, unbearable, crushing pain. And then? Then what?
Would I be willing to bring back the pain for one more day with you? I would, but what would it achieve? What would change? We don't need to tell each other anything - we already know. The alternative is, of course, to realise in the morning that you will be leaving in the evening, and to simply enjoy every single moment for itself. But if I were that enlightened, I wouldn't be asking for another day with you in the first place. If I think I could do it on that day, maybe I can do it now too.
I love you. Always have, always will.
Until I see you again...
^
Let's say this day can be predecided. What would I do on my day with you? I could keep telling you how much I miss you and need you, but you already know that because I tell you everyday. You could tell me you watch over me and I needn't worry, but I know that already. I could ask you for your wisdom and guidance on how I should live my life and if I'm living it right. But you've already told me and taught me all I ever need to know. I try hard to live that life, but I do fail sometimes and blame it on being human. It becomes easier and easier to forget and make excuses...so maybe our day together would help me put myself back together again.
If there's nothing much to say, I could just hold your hand and lean my head against yours, like I used to do most evenings. We could just sit there in silence and feel perfectly content, like we used to do more and more as you lost your sight and hearing, but not the sharpness of your mind. Actually, it was a bit of that amazing sharpness and intellectual curiosity, even at that age and inspite of rapidly diminishing faculties, that I was secretly hoping to absorb by leaning my head against yours.
But each minute that passes would bring the moment you leave again closer. I would start to worry, and every moment from then on would be increasingly tinged with sadness. Then panic, then a maniacal refusal to let you go. And I would waste those precious last minutes fighting, begging, pleading, arguing, bargaining. And then, you would smile and be gone. And I would be left with the pain. The same, unbearable, crushing pain. And then? Then what?
Would I be willing to bring back the pain for one more day with you? I would, but what would it achieve? What would change? We don't need to tell each other anything - we already know. The alternative is, of course, to realise in the morning that you will be leaving in the evening, and to simply enjoy every single moment for itself. But if I were that enlightened, I wouldn't be asking for another day with you in the first place. If I think I could do it on that day, maybe I can do it now too.
I love you. Always have, always will.
Until I see you again...
^
spouted by Non-Sensei at 8/23/2009 12:40:00 PM
8 Comments:
i'm reading this at a time when it's easy to forget to make the most of what i have.
i'm reading this at a time when i need to hear this.
thank you.
i would cook for him, show him my new place, new office and the amazing things i do these days.
then id tell him i smoke and i love it, but that i believe i will stop some times in the near future.
then id ask for a hug, and a kiss, the kind that used to make my cheek a little raw from his mustache.
...i think.
hope all is well, and you are doing fine. *hugs*
@TDT: you're welcome. I hope it helps.
@CE: sounds like a good day to me :) Im thinking we can actually have those days, if we try.
ah, what a time to read this, I wa just contemplating my loss :), you made me cry
This comment has been removed by the author.
Anything I say will only enlarge the great divide between what I feel and what I foolishly say.
But, as TDT says, your words come at a time when I need to hear them the most. :)
i wish i could forward this post to my grandma.i could not have expressed it as beautifully as u did.
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