41 Days Later

The world is like a bucket of water, and every individual just a single H2O molecule.

I've moved on from the passing of my grandpa. I moved on because I should. Because I have a lot of work to do. Dwelling on a pain will be counterproductive on my part. It will be counterproductive for many to keep themselves stuck in the mourning phase.

Maybe I am saying this because I am young, because I have a lot of things to do to keep myself busy: read about my lessons, do work for the UP Journalism Club, mingle with my friends. On my part, it is easy to say that moving on from a death is easy and that it will come quick.

Well, not really.

My widowed grandmother still finds it hard to accept the bitter truth of Papa's passing. Though there has been a bit of an improvement emotionally, it is negligible progress. Oftentimes, she still finds herself crying about Papa.

I understand. To be separated from a companion, a  lover, a best friend of 47 long and wonderful years is hard. If I were in her shoes and I lost a wife of 47 years, I would mourn. I would cry my heart our for her. Sadness will doubtlessly envelop me. But it doesn't mean I will allow it to envelop me forever.

Take away one molecule of H2O from a bucket of water and it can still clean surfaces, it can still be drank, it can still be used to rehydrate. A bucket of water, minus one H2O molecule, can still be used.

Same goes with the world. A death of a person won't make the world stop functioning. A person's departure won't retard the earth's rotation on it's axis and its revolution around the Sun. It won't stop the stock market from plummeting or rising. It won't stop musicians around the world from making music, won't stop activists from protesting against something, won't keep the rich from getting more money.

A young person like me, maybe like my parents, can still take this easily. But for a retired 70-year-old, it is very hard. The relationship has lasted practically her whole life. Unlike a working person – who has the luxury of channeling the sad vibes to his or her work – a retired 70-year-old doesn't have this to fall back on. Their house becomes their life, a house which will remind of the past, both happy and sad.

Life must go on. For an old widow, how  can life go on when the biggest part of her life has gone?

Nobody said that bucket of emotion within cannot be replaced with new water. Once the old water has evaporated, fresh new liquid can fill the container.

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