Dealing With the Grim Reaper (Part 2)


Part two of the poem Dealing With the Grim Reaper

Death is scary. Being abandoned by the person you love because the Grim Reaper stole him/her away from you is terrifying. To continue living while learning to move on without the presence of that person is healing.


The mere thought of dying is terrifying. As humans capable of feeling emotions, the repercussions of death we go through and endure once, twice or maybe more in our lifetime are boundless and irrevocable. However, our personal, unique methods of letting go of someone who passed away and the variety of ways we execute them facilitate healing not to mention incite the continuum of living. It might not be right away as wound no matter what type it is takes time to heal, but it will mend itself in the long run. And to completely obliterate the memories of that dead person or to hold on to those memories until the day you are ready to breathe life again entirely depends on you the one who is left behind, your unyielding resilience, your fervent desire to continue living, your ability to forget and move on with ease. Nobody can escape death, and dealing with the aftermath of it is inevitable.

I’ve always wondered how I will cope and deal with the death of a person close to me as I am more than lucky not to have gone through such staggering pain brought by this despairing phenomenon. Like everybody else, there will be a point in my life where I will be facing the consequences of death myself, and to envision the death of the people I love and care about when they are alive and well sitting next to me is outrageous and beyond wrong.

However, having a conversation with my co-worker about how she dealt with the death of her son led me to another episode of pondering if self-loathing and persecuting the innocent people around me for my misery like she did are possibilities. Would I be losing the will to live, blaming myself and the world for my loss, burrowing myself under the influence of medications and roping myself to these endless therapy sessions with the psychologist to forget and heal? For her, her whole world came crushing down around her to the point of involuntary starvation and being bed-bound for almost a year when she lost her son. Her own battle of how she buried herself to oblivion through entwining her consciousness with the course of antidepressants and sleeping pills was mind-blowing.

Although the comfort given by these pills was short-lived, her preference to easily pop them inside her mouth became a vicious cycle of addiction. For her, this was a small price to pay for she was desperate for an ally to extinguish the overwhelming sadness and regret taking over her soul, consuming her, devouring her until she was almost on the brink of losing her sanity. These pills were her tickets to heaven, a solemn place where she submerged herself to nullity and a peaceful haven for her battered soul for a brief period of time. Her urgent need of something compelling to obliterate the pain and suffering was selflessly provided by these pills without criticism, without objection, without judgement. These magic pills alleviated her tumultuous emotions. They made her last throughout the day without jumping out of the window to escape the anguish.

After listening to her story, I felt like I had been literally wrung out of my emotions. My intention of getting rid of the awkwardness between us when I pried into the secrets of her family backfired, for I unleashed tormenting emotions and scorching memories deserving to be contained. Her vivid descriptions of how she caught up with her journey gave a stranger who just needed a ride home a poignant thought to ponder on. I was lost for words at the end of the ride as I kept thinking about the possibility of being in her shoes.

Whether I’m ready or not, the aftermath of death will eventually catch up on me either once or twice in my lifetime. Needless to say, when that unknown, precarious day arrives at my doorstep, I hope that I’m brave enough to gather my resilience and conviction to continue living. That moment of waking up every day not consumed by overwhelming sadness and regrets, that reality of moving on with hope and optimism, and that point of realization that the death of the person I love is not the end of me, are the positive deeds I envision myself to accomplish in terms of dealing with the Grim Reaper. Death albeit inevitable is not the end of the world after all.


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