By Joe

This is dedicated to a friend of mine who lost his mom recently.

He sat there, silently staring at nothing in particular. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the people all around him: some of them chatting animatedly with each other, some of them eating or drinking, some of them silently staring, like him, but at the coffin nearby. He remembered the coffin–and more importantly, the person in it–and he almost burst out crying again, right there. He couldn’t help it–almost any other person in his current situation and state of mind would have done the same thing. He tried to think of something, anything to take his mind off what happened, tried to talk to someone, tried to get something to eat–but somehow, he was rooted to the spot, unable to move.

Two days ago, he was as normal a person as could be: decent grades in school, finally established a truce with his siblings, and they were supposed to go out of town that weekend. In fact, he thought that nothing could go wrong, and that life was just perfect–if only for that day. He slept contentedly that night, silently thanking the Lord for everything he had received, and for all the good things happening in his life. Little did he expect the tragedy that was going to happen the following day.

He woke up the next morning, got ready for school, humming a happy tune to himself, thinking of all the good things that were going to happen, when he went to wake his mother up so that she could bring him to school. She should have been awake and ready by now, and under normal circumstances he would have been irritated, but he was determined to not let anything ruin his good mood. He went to her room, walked to her bed and gently shook her, fully expecting her to get up in a matter of seconds. When his expectations were not fulfilled, he began shaking her more frantically, and then fear and anxiety entered his mind. When he had not stopped trying to wake her up for a full minute, he called his father. The father did the same thing, but when he checked for a pulse, he found none, which drained all the blood from his face. When he had broken the news to his son, they just sat there and wept.

It was yesterday now, and the pain had not subsided at all. In fact, it had increased, burning through him, until at last nothing was left of him–except an empty shell, numb and unfeeling. That was how he felt, at any rate–as if he was cut off from the rest of the world, a mere observer. He tried not to forget the pain–he wanted to grieve for his mother–but what came, instead of pain, was an overwhelming feeling of rage.

He raged against everything: his friends, his relatives, God–especially God. He blamed God for what happened to his mother; he blamed Him for not preventing it, for not caring. His previous feelings of happiness and contentment were, by this time, obviously gone; instead he just raged on and on, accusing Him of not being able to prevent the tragedy that had befallen his family. He screamed silently, in his soul, a scream of anger, mixed with anguish. He screamed at the injustice of it all, that his mother had to be taken away from him so early while so many other people still had their mothers to worry over them, take care of them, and comfort them.

Suddenly, though, his feeling of overwhelming, inexpressible anger faded away, to be replaced by–strangely enough–a feeling of calmness, so strong that it was as if nothing could disturb him at that moment. His mind also became crystal clear, as if someone had taken out all the cloudiness in his head, and left only reason. He realized that it was wrong for him to be angry, wrong for him to blame God–he realized that his mother was in a better place now, far, far away from all the sufferings here–where else would she go but heaven, she who had never harmed a single soul? He knew then, in the uttermost depths of his soul, that it was alright for him to grieve for his mother–after all, she deserved the privilege of having people remember her and mark her passing–but it was just wrong to rage at it, because that would just mean he was being selfish and refusing to be happy for her.

And just when he realized that, all the sadness, all the pain, all the anger–all of it was flushed away completely, and replaced by a serene happiness. He marveled that he could still be happy, after all that he had gone through recently, all the emotional turmoil he had experienced. He did not ponder on it for long, though–he was glad that his mother was in a better place, though he still sorely missed her; he was glad that life still went on, and that there would be so much more ahead of him; and that was when he just remembered–his father had never said anything about canceling their out-of-town trip that weekend.

I know this wasn’t very good, and I know I’ve used some expressions here before, it’s just that I felt that I had to get this out of my system somehow, and pay my last respects to my friend’s mother as well.

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4 Responses to “After Life”


  1. 1 Cam
    September 7, 2007 at 10:02 pm

    The first paragraph just crushed me.

    I feel for your friend.

  2. 2 Joe
    September 9, 2007 at 2:48 pm

    i was able to write that because i pictured myself in my friend’s shoes. needless to say, i was emotionally hit–hard.

  3. 3 circuspalette
    September 23, 2007 at 11:25 am

    This wanted to make me cry.

    I can relate, in a way.

  4. 4 Joe
    September 23, 2007 at 7:14 pm

    er, don’t you mean ‘this made me want to cry?’ XD

    oh yeah, i remember now.


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intro.

Presenting the thoughts and travails of a teenage writer who lives under a rock--albeit a rock with Internet access. Also, videos! Also, my Tumblr.

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