Fear of death, not your own

Have you ever wept over the death of someone still alive?

One night, when I was a child, I couldn’t stop crying for a whole night. My best friend had died.

Not really.

I was living in a story where she had died. I could see her body wrapped in white waiting to be flamed, burning her out. She was only eight and so was I but her friendship meant a lot and I couldn’t stop crying. I met her in kindergarten and now we were in second standard, there was so much more to laugh, so much more to do. I was a happy child but still it was her who made me laugh most of the time. Her impromptu comments, her fascinating tales, her contagious laughter – everything had gone. She was gone.

My heart was in my mouth as I tried to gulp down the last of my dinner. Everybody was home, watching TV and not talking much. I made use of the situation and hurried up to clear my plate and cease the day. Walking like a scared rabbit I rushed to my bedroom, eyes down to the floor trying to hide the outburst of tears that was ready to explode. Lights off and boom!

It was like my life had ended. I cried so hard that my heart ached. But soundless I was as anyone could walk in the room; my sister was yet to come beside me. But till then, all my painful heart could do was to cry madly but quietly, not moving much as I had to look sound asleep. She came, my sister, turned on the stupid light. Thank God I had already tucked my face in the pillow. I waited for her to sleep, crying just with my eyes. I couldn’t even blow my nose, gosh it was almost annoying. But my sister was a quick sleeper; I could hear her little snores already. I got my sign and got up to do what was long pending.

All I could think was how hard life will be now. Without her, school would be meaningless, life would be meaningless. At that age, I tried my best to make myself understand that it’s just in my head, an imagination. But I couldn’t understand why that. Maybe I was gifted - with the power to know without actually knowing. Oh my God! That means she’s really gone. No!

I spent another 2 hours crying, on the floor this time, with actions expressing my grief but no noise still. But then it was over; can’t say that I felt better but I had had enough, enough for that night at least. I cleaned up, hid the proofs of my weepy night in the dustbin, and hugged myself to sleep.

I saw her at school the next day. Well, she was very much alive and I was severely swollen. Everyone noticed. She enquired sharply. In a lame effort I tried to make it sound comically tragic, and said “I thought you were dead”. She laughed and sweared (yes she could do it even at that age), and life was normal again.

Until..