I’ve seen death up close more times than I care to recall.
I’ve seen it swoop in like big black brutal bat and claim friends and family alike. My father, the little old lady from church, my neighbour across the street… Friends of friends, lovers of loved ones, even an ex boyfriend.
I’ve seen death come unannounced like a thief in the night and I’ve seen it steal, bit by bit, until there was nothing left to do but give in to it.
I’ve seen it come way too early to ever be fair and I’ve seen it come almost too late – when life had been reduced to nothing but pain and prayers. Prayers for it to be over, for it to be swift, for it to bring sweet oblivion.
I’ve seen death come in one fell swoop, wipe out families, groups of friends and sometimes, when life gets really f*cking cruel, I’ve seen death take all but one.
One left behind wounded but not badly enough for heart to stop, eyes to close, soul to depart.
One left behind to wonder “why me, Lord?”
One left to endure days soaked in silence, nights filled to the brim with guilt and to somehow find a new way to survive.
One who’ll have to pick up the pieces, rise up taller and tougher and yet more tender and look life in the eye once more and say “is that all you’ve got?!”
A little shy of 25, I’ve felt death’s icy grip more times than some people in their 50s have. The lucky ones who’ve been fortunate enough to live long lives punctuated not by loss and lonely, but by other forms of languish, I’m sure.
Death has come too close for comfort way too often, has left me bludgeoned into a place where I swore I couldn’t hurt any more, couldn’t cry any more, wouldn’t let myself feel any more.
I swore I grew numb to it all but this week… This week proved me wrong.
I started off this week crying into my mother’s chest.
I woke up on Monday morning to the news that that *sshole death? He’s back again.
Back again to this time take mother and son in an accident that can only be described as tragic.
I start off my week crying into my mother’s chest but I pull myself together, take a deep breath and try to get on with my day.
After all, I’ve been here before.
I’ve been here before but a little later, I’m crying again.
This time not because death is an *sshole and life is cruel and I’ll never be numb enough to not feel my heart shatter when it ends too soon for my liking, but because sometimes… Death is merciful.
Sometimes it takes both mother and son at once because maybe, just maybe it knows her heart would never beat right again without him.
In loving memory of Konrad and Welmien Louw.
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