Closure?
Death is scary. Even though it is inevitable, it scares the shit out of me. I think death is for old people, for those who have lived a full life, satisfied and content with their passion, dying in the arms of their loved ones. Death is for the fulfilled, not for someone just 18 years of age. Death is not for someone who had just stepped out into the world to pursue his dreams. Death wasn’t for him. And yet he left me and started a journey from which he would never return. He took a path on which I wasn’t able to follow him (at least now), on a road where I would someday venture, to a world which was unknown to me. He left me without meeting me one last time, so what remained in my memory were those smiling eyes and that innocent face, that childish grin and those unshapely eyebrows, the laughter in his voice and the impish gaiety of his demeanour.
I miss him in a way I miss no one else. Because it wasn’t a closure. He just upped and left. He left me behind without a proper goodbye. Sometimes, I can feel him beside me. Sometimes, I think he is somewhere close, trying to whisper out his thoughts to me. Sometimes, I get scared. But then I take solace in the belief that my young cousin would never, ever try to hurt me. He was a good boy, a decent kid. He loved to play football. He loved to ride his bike. He loved racing cars and go-karts. He loved challenging me to games of FIFA X played out on lazy, summer afternoons (of course, when I found time to visit my aunt at home, which was very rare!). He loved cracking jokes. He loved making people laugh. He loved his hair and was very proud of his looks --- a handsome teenager who was very popular with the girls. He was a jock and a geek rolled into one. He adored Pink Floyd and wanted to get his chest tattooed with the initials of his idols. He also loved Radiohead and Arctic Monkeys. He taught me guitar chords (even better ones!). He compiled for me a CD with alternate music – stuff like The Raconteurs and Frou Frou and Screaming Jets. The irony is that I am unable to listen to those bands now – their music reminds me of the boy who grew up suddenly, only to disappear before our eyes.
I miss him. It is a heartache that just grows with every passing day. I think of him when I am lying in my bed, awake at night, trying to sleep, closing my eyes so tightly that at times, they begin to hurt. I think of him and his various habits that annoyed me no end, but which I miss terribly. “You never miss the water until it’s gone,” said someone. He was like the water we got pretty much used to – and then he gently, and very sadly, meandered away.
I miss him in a way I miss no one else. Because it wasn’t a closure. He just upped and left. He left me behind without a proper goodbye. Sometimes, I can feel him beside me. Sometimes, I think he is somewhere close, trying to whisper out his thoughts to me. Sometimes, I get scared. But then I take solace in the belief that my young cousin would never, ever try to hurt me. He was a good boy, a decent kid. He loved to play football. He loved to ride his bike. He loved racing cars and go-karts. He loved challenging me to games of FIFA X played out on lazy, summer afternoons (of course, when I found time to visit my aunt at home, which was very rare!). He loved cracking jokes. He loved making people laugh. He loved his hair and was very proud of his looks --- a handsome teenager who was very popular with the girls. He was a jock and a geek rolled into one. He adored Pink Floyd and wanted to get his chest tattooed with the initials of his idols. He also loved Radiohead and Arctic Monkeys. He taught me guitar chords (even better ones!). He compiled for me a CD with alternate music – stuff like The Raconteurs and Frou Frou and Screaming Jets. The irony is that I am unable to listen to those bands now – their music reminds me of the boy who grew up suddenly, only to disappear before our eyes.
I miss him. It is a heartache that just grows with every passing day. I think of him when I am lying in my bed, awake at night, trying to sleep, closing my eyes so tightly that at times, they begin to hurt. I think of him and his various habits that annoyed me no end, but which I miss terribly. “You never miss the water until it’s gone,” said someone. He was like the water we got pretty much used to – and then he gently, and very sadly, meandered away.
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