December is always the worst month of the year for me. It has something to do with my obsession with writing out goals and laying them out meticulously for the entire year – more often than not, I look back on my lists on the 31st of December, realize I’ve accomplished very few of them, and become extremely sad.
The past two years or so though, my Decembers have been marked by something much worse than unfinished to-do lists. It’s been marked by death. A lot of people I love and a lot of people whom the people I love care for have died in recent Decembers. I’m usually so practical that my way of dealing with grief is to acknowledge it, cry it all out in one sitting, and just let it go. But this year, it’s been too much. Everything around me is filled with death – from the things I watch, to the books I read, to the gossip I hear. I’m not sure what to make of it.
My father’s been coming home very late in the evenings because so many of his acquaintances have died. There have been too many funerals these past few weeks, too many death anniversaries, that it’s gone beyond creepy – it has become heavy and haunting and just plain sad. It’s awful watching people go. It’s awful watching the people who are left behind.
Someone will probably tell me that’s how you know you’re growing up – it’s when the people who’ve always been permanents in your life pass on one by one. Again, I don’t know how to feel about this. I realize, of course, that death comes to us all. But really, how does life go on after someone you care about has died? Are you supposed to recover and rebuild yourself from scratch when so much has been taken away from you?
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