I recollect moments that have gathered through the memory lane marking everything new. I am astounded by the novelties.
A time of transitions. Traditions, talks, touch, longings, words. Tears rolled down as proposals were made, death paid some of us a visit, loneliness wrapped itself around our breasts. A ton of goodbyes, see you agains, I miss yous.
I see her walk out of the apartment with face worn out from tears that have not stopped falling; her dad died yesterday. I feel her pain. I know, I know exactly what that feels like. I wish I could say more but I don’t speak her language. I wish I could do more, but I know, oh how I know, nothing I do will make the pain go away. So I watch her leave, with makeup on her saddened face, and I pray she knows tonight that she’s loved.
My mom. One, two, three, four teens. Her dad. Afghanistan. Syria. Sweden. Russia. Death keeps on visiting and grief has no expiry date.
I think that some would prefer that I write about something nice and optimistic – you know? Something that mentions “blessings”, prosperity, possibilities awaiting those who dream big, and a bright future planned for those who work hard. Ah, but does the bright future include suffering or is that part no longer relevant in our postmodern belief? And blessings, like the ones on the mountain where being poor in spirit, persecuted, having mourned for days, months, years is considered a blessing or some other blessings that I do not seem to grasp through my narrow point of view?
Pray without ceasing.
Love your neighbour as yourself.
Teach, exhort, correct one another.
Rejoice in suffering.
I’m overcome by emotions. I know they’ll subside and I’ll process them, but for now all I can think of is that the above statements were not spoken lightly or in vain.