If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I would like to do, is to save every day, till eternity passes away, just to spend them with you.
Jim Croce forgot to mention that along the way, the bottle slips and breaks. Tears fall, it tears you apart.
Fear fills, Death kills.
Fair, Familiar, Contemptible... But it remains to be that piece of tangled ribbon which has no escape. An unexplainable phenomenon. It scares you. It amazes you. It is that part of life which takes away life. “You live, you die.” If I say it like that, it is simple. And it is, in fact, the easiest thing that we would have to face. What complicates it is the grief that it conceals within itself and the trail of unanswered questions that staggers behind it.
How? Why? And What now?
Tears, emptiness, hollowness and the burning pain of losing somebody you love. It is terrifying. You are left numb. The anguish, the anxiety that befalls is greater than any other.
I lost my grandparents and though it has been two years, the pain doesn’t part. I am broken, weak.
I close my eyes. I see myself talking to them, staying with them, smiling with them. I see them making jokes... Laughing with me, walking with me, talking to me. And then, it all leads me to the moment when they are lying there. Silent. Dead. They don’t move and suddenly I realise how weak, how old they were. On their terribly old face is this unnatural peace. And all I wish is for them to wake up, to tell me how proud they are of what I have become. How desperately I want to hear their voice. Then the guilt strikes me. My heart takes me to the moment when they were asking me to come over and spend some time with them but I was too busy to do that. I wish I could change that. I wish I had spent more time with them. My heart desires. It screams for their presence. It is needy. But nothing changes. I cry.
Tears fall down my cheek. And in the disarray of emotions, I try to reason.
I try to reach out. I try to connect with God. I look for a voice, a soul. Something. I need someone to tell me how they are, where they are, what they think of me, how upset they are with me for not visiting them. Then it starts raining. The wind is cooler; I look up to the skies and realise:
I don’t understand death, I never would. To me, the world is an illusion. Death is the end but illusions can have no end. So, how can life end? To me, this is a dream. A dream weaved from memories. We are born with the memories of moments gone by. We don’t build them. As life moves forward and things happen to us, we realise a memory, a moment we once lived. And when we live it again, the memory strengthens.
So, the moments that I long to spend with my grandparents are nothing but a part of that memory which shall never be realised in this world but it is still there. It would always be there. I did once live them in a time, in a place, I know nothing of.
All of us here are looking for the day we wake up to the perfect world. That day will be the day we die. The day, when the bottle breaks.
Death is nothing but an escape. So why are we trying to escape from Escape?
A day would come when this dream made of unfulfilled desires shall end, and we open our eyes to a place where nothing is impossible but till then, we have to live the better half of it.
Make sure you choose the right memories, the happy times. They will be the memories you would want to strengthen and save in the bottle.