The worst thing about death, is to keep living.
The first loss I experienced was that of my first dog, Mota, who was a little white ten pound mix (resembling a Chihuahua). I adored that dog and when a car killed her in the street I kept asking my mother when was she coming back and why did someone kill her. My mother, who had amazing educating skills, gave me the valuable lesson of what dying meant. She later told me her family wanted to find a dog who looked just like Mota to try and trick me into thinking it was her, but my mother never lied to me and knew the right thing was to explain what had happened to my dog.
I later lost my maternal grandfather, who was my first and best friend, and I knew what I was going to face. I knew that while he received relief of all his ailments and pain, I had to keep living without him. Many years later, in a year’s period of time, I lost my paternal grandmother and grandfather, an uncle and a cousin. I know first hand then, that the hardest thing about experiencing death is the sadness that overcomes those who have to stay behind. We, the ones who have to keep going without those we love, have the worst part of death.
It’s never easy to keep on going after a loss. Our family still feels the pain but we have kept on going and this week we’ve even felt the sun shining on us. That rock is now empty, but our hearts are filled because he left so much love behind. And with that love we step forward; may the love of all those we miss be on each of our steps permeating everything in our lives.
Have a good week.