For some odd reason I just didn't feel like writing anything in my dairy tonight. But, the day now seems incomplete and undone till I have jotted down my scattered thoughts here by sundown.
Death is exhausting. I was at a funeral the whole day and came back not only with a heavy heart but also a massive headache like someone was at my head with a hammer and a half. What does one say to the bereaved? How is one to conduct oneself in so unnatural and unreal a circumstance? It is tiring. I can't find the empty words to cajole and console - they sound so hollow and vain and meaningless to my own ears so I stay quite and just look. There is the same scene unfolding in front me as in every death... a dismal feeling of waste, of time gone to nothing, of faded memories, of almost a stench of life lived and lost.
Since my father has gone away, I have tried to think less and less of this ordeal, but today all of it came rushing back to me, how is one death any different from any other, how is the anguish of one person any more or less than another. To all of us our parents have performed heroic deeds and lived virtuous larger then life lives, it is on their shoulders we hope to stand and look out in the future and do good.
I miss my father more than ever today, because I saw once again the deep loss of death, the unanswered questions, the vain efforts of all to try an fill in the gaps and the mystery that nonetheless stays enigmatic and misty.
Why is it that we all behave so stupidly at a death? why we all say the same things that bring comfort to no one, repeat a hundred times how the death occurred and then sit there all silent to observe the spectacle? Why?
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