My heart freezes at the thought - imagine the depth and the darkness of centuries beneath 80 feet of snow, mud and sludge, imagine the soundless-ness of sound, imagine the cold and the frigidity of being buried alive without any hope of being found.
My heart bleeds for these soldiers and civilians - how easy for me to utter these words and render my duty done, my homage paid, my obligations met. How easy it is for the living to get distracted, how easy to think of something else, but what of the mothers, the fathers, the wives and children of the people trapped underneath that deathly pile of snow? How would they be spending every single minute of this gruesome ordeal, of being on the outside and looking in at that mound of mud that covers and hides what is so precious to them? What would I have done had I been in their shoes?
Grief, as someone very aptly put, is a place we can never know unless we arrive at it. We can never understand the agony, the sheer helplessness felt by the families of those trapped, the fragility of their beings, the impossibility of their situation, the absurdity of their predicament - and the worst of all is that the world goes on, as days pass, new headlines make urgent news and what happened is just what happened in the past.
Life does change in the instant. In an ordinary instant....
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