Somebody in my neighbourhood died today. I don’t know how or why, but the news stayed with me, pressing quietly against my chest. There is a weight to death, a heaviness that doesn’t just linger for those who leave, but for those who remain. He had a family: a loving wife, two small children. And now, they are left with questions that have no answers, and a grief that has no shape. They might even blame themselves. That’s what grief does. It searches for reasons even when there are none.
And I think of the children I may one day have. If I were to leave suddenly, would they carry that same unbearable weight? Would they believe they could have done something, anything, to keep me here? They must not. They will not. Life is tied to the living. Our absence does not break those who leave this world; it breaks those left behind. Death does not touch the dead, but it touches the living. They are the ones who feel the cracks, the silence, the emptiness, and the ache.
This is why we must continue to live, especially for those who are still with us and around us. We must honour the ones we love by showing up, by breathing, by laughing, by continuing to create. Life moves forward. We must, too, even when the unbearable grief lingers around us. The responsibility of carrying the light is immense. Hence, finding the courage to do so even in the darkest of hours requires strength, support from others, and an incredible amount of self-love to live fully and fiercely.
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