At the temple there is a poem called “Loss” carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it. – Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha
One of my greatest fears in life is Death, not mine, but of loved ones. It haunts me beyond everything and I would do anything to protract their time here. Every news of death I hear jolts me to reality. Wikipedia claims that this fear comes within the ambit of Thanatophobia.
When I was in school, I witnessed a few of my classmates grieve the loss of either of their parents. This nurtured the insecurity inside me to grow into the fear it is today. I’m fearing the unknown, I can never fathom the gravity of their sorrow and yet, I’m haunted by it interminably.
If I utter any cruel words to a loved one out of anger, the fear in me rears its ugly head and hisses, ‘What if those are your last words to him or her?‘. The fear of the possible guilt churns in my heart. What if I never get a chance to say sorry? In a way this helps me value every person and every moment I have. But, the fear consumes my sleep and dreams.
I think about the hollowness, the memories, the touch, the scent, the smile and the absence of their presence. I believe every soul is made up of a number of other souls. So it will be the irreplacable loss of a soul of my soul. It shall never be whole again.
I know it’s an eventuality, enduring loss someday. Each person who flies away from us will leave a gaping hole in our lives, one in which we shall drown for a very long time, gasping for air.
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