“I think it’s so easy to be bitter. To be angry at the wound left behind, but that’s the deal we make, right? That’s what we signed up for, whether you like it or not. When you choose to love, you are choosing to lose. You signed a contract. I mean, cause everyone either leaves or dies…. So really, we should be grateful. Really, we’re lucky that it hurts in ways we can’t know. perhaps we loved her in ways that we can’t understand and maybe that makes it all okay. Because the pain means you did something worth doing. You loved someone worth loving. “
Jon stares over the podium to silence as a welling begins to surge in his chest. He always thought that when this day came, he would be strong where others couldn’t be. That he’d impart wisdom about the nature of death and grief, something he had pondered often. A professor in philosophy, what had his study prepared him for if not this? But as he looks out across a sea of grief, he is unsure. He can’t help but feel that it’s not okay. That when his wife was senselessly taken, that’s precisely what it was. Senseless. pain.
‘It’s not okay’ he felt.
“no” he begins, “It’s not okay… I’m sorry, it’s not okay. The world is worse for having lost her and there’s really not much we can do. Contract or not, it’s awful. ” He pauses.
“It’s just terrible.” He can hardly shake the words from his throat. “We can cry and we can love harder…and we can try to remember. That’s all we have.”
Jon cries.
Psuedothought 