Sunday

See, at the end of the day, you’re alone.

Nobody understands the pain—nor should they—to begin with. There are a lot of people, from friends and family to caring strangers who are prepared to help you out, however they can, but they don’t know how, and they don’t know when. In any case, the caring withers away. It’s been a year; one and a half years; two years. They slowly forget. They don’t care as much as they did in the beginning. Time heals, yes, but not in this case. And time wears down too.

And how could they know that Sundays are the hardest? How could they know that you spent your Saturdays, for more than five years, with him, going to the park, running, building Legos, cooking, eating together, watching videos, reading stories, listening to church bells and sleeping together. His naked feet touching yours. His arm on your chest. Waking up together on Sunday mornings.. No, him waking up first, at 6am, playing alone so that baba could sleep some more, then waking him up to ask for his help to separate two Lego pieces..

Now I hate Sundays.

One thought on “Sunday

  1. It’s almost rude to “like” your post when it comes from a place of pain. I think it better to say I acknowledge what you are expressing. My cousin’s daughter committed suicide a few months ago. She’s 4hrs drive away, so not just round the corner for a hug or to cook her a meal. I’ve been trying to keep in touch by text, to empathise and acknowledge that her pain is still raw, her heart still broken. I can’t fix it, I’m juggling family problems of my own, I care but I can’t care as much as I’d like. Perhaps some of your people are the same. They want to be and do more to help, but they can’t fix it and can’t keep all the plates spinning, so some fall. I know for myself, I think about my cousin and her family often, but she’s not a mind reader, so doesn’t know that. She only knows when I actually do contact her. I think maybe rest in the knowledge that you will not have been forgotten or abandoned because you don’t matter, but that all of us, like you, are trying to keep our plates spinning. Reach out to people and ask for what you need; to talk, to remember your dear one, to keep him in your present, not just in your past… Perhaps time does make a difference, but I believe only Jesus truly comforts the broken hearted, so my prayer for you, and my cousin, is that you will know his comfort in the midst of your sorrow and that you will have joy in your life.

    Like

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