A Life After You

‘All that I’m after is a life full of laughter,

As long as I’m laughing with you.

And I’m thinking that,

All that still matters is love ever after,

After the life we’ve been through

Cause I know there’s no life after you.’

-Daughtry (Life After You)

     These words are not one’s that should be written on paper.

     Nevertheless, sometimes, getting the thoughts out may allow justice to be served.

     Even if it is in the smallest way possible.

     Even if it only helps a few of us in the long run.

     Even if the loss that we’ve suffered from can never be truly cured.

     Today, we talk about loved ones.

     Today, we talk about losing those dearest to us.

     We talk of life and death.

     Because we’ve all loved and lost.

     We’ve all wished that we could’ve said more.

     Laughed more.

     Listened more.

     The most painful goodbyes are the ones that are never said and explained, after all.

     Roses.

    Crimson and curled black along the edges.

   ‘It’s been a while,’ he thinks to himself as he takes a seat next to the words embedded into stone.

   Permanent words.

   Not at all like the life that lies underneath.

   Tears do not make you weak.

   They make you human.

   Mourn for those who you have lost because you can.  We mourn because we deserve at least that small act of respite despite all odds.  Despite all circumstances.

    A life can end so quickly.

    And all that’s left of it is not only grief, but also that small fissure of disbelief and shock that blinds even the most sensible of minds.

    He cradles his head in his hands and takes a deep breath before turning up towards the sky with a watery smile.

    ‘I love you,’ he says,’ I love you and I need you to know that.’

    The world is silent as the boy utters the words.

    A sudden breeze picks up, pushing his hair back and rustling his clothes as little leaves and flowers  fall to the ground around his form and he stares up at the skies with a single tear leaking from the apex of his eye.

   ‘How do I go on?’

    Hold on to the love.

    Not the loss.

    It hurts.

    People say the pain goes away, give it time.

    They are wrong.

    The pain does not go away completely.

    It simmers into a dull ache that keeps us burdened even years later, lying awake with that watery smile, remembering a time that once was.

    It hurts.

    So embrace the hurt and learn how to live on with it.

    Find strength in the pain.

    You never know how strong you really are until being strong is the only choice you have.

    He’s older now with a younger sister half his age.

    Five years have gone by since the incident, a pair of curious ten year old eyes looking up at him, questioningly.

    ‘Why won’t Daddy come back?,’ she asks, her tone filled with innocent curiosity,’ Where is he, now?’

    He watches her curl a finger into her curly brown locks.

    ‘Dad had the same hair,’ he thinks as his throat clogs up and hot tears prick the corner of his eyes.

    They’re watching you.

    Every single one of them.

    The loved ones, the lost ones, the ones you thought you’d never see again.

    You walk the earth on two feet.

    They travel the sky on two wings.

    He clears his throat as he brings the little girl to the balcony and points up towards the rather sunny sky.

    “See that cloud?”  he asks her and watches as she nods vigorously looking up to where he’s pointing, her small fingers clasping onto his that aren’t being used.

    “That cloud carried Dad all the way up to the land above.  We can’t see him from here.”

    “Can he see us?” she asks looking up at him with big eyes as he holds her hand tighter.

    “All the time,” he replies, looking up with a watery smile feeling the sun on his face, hoping it will dry his tears.

    “Is he happy?”

    The question surprises him and he blinks once and looks down at his little sister with an awkward laugh, wondering why that question had never occurred to him.

    “I bet he is,” he states confidently, looking up once again at the skies above feeling  a lot better than he had when he first stepped out onto the balcony. “He’s probably having all sorts of adventures of his own up there, after all.” 

    Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness.

    It is an emotion.

    It is the price of love.

    The only cure for grief is to grieve.

    The roses that leave his hands are a bright crimson.

    He throws them out to the wind, feeling the breeze wrap around his body as though a slight caress.

    ‘I love you Dad,’ he murmurs, looking at his little sister playing with a couple of rose petals, ‘but, I think I’m going to be okay.’

    Love, love and love some more.

    When one road comes to a halt,

    Join your loved ones and fly across to the next.