I wish I could believe in the afterlife. I wish I could believe the soul left the body upon death and ascended into some beautiful realm. I wish more than anything that I had faith. I have no faith.
Now I will never be sure. My anamchara died, my best friend, my sworn soul mate. I want so badly just to talk to him. Just to hear his voice, just to know he is there. Even if he has a far greater consciousness than he did in his body, and my relationship with him is tiny and inconsequential. I would trade anything to know he still exists somewhere, and one day I will join him.
People say to me, “you know that you hear him every day, and he will always be in your heart.” If you’ve had someone close pass, you know that most of the time, this is not comforting at all. My memory is flawed and full of holes, an inadequate vessel for the bright, shining mote of humanity that my friend was. I simply cannot carry all of him, and it does not comfort me that my thoughts are all that remain.
Even dreams are just recreated memories of events, places, people that already exist in your head.
People tell me that grief does fade eventually, and the loss is easier to bear. This time I fear that it will alter me entirely, that my entire consciousness shifted to avoid being swallowed by the hole left inside of me.
So sing the sad songs, cry, laugh, remember, hoping that memory will be enough, even when you know that it isn’t.