Suffice to say, there are a lot of things left unsaid. Although I am aware of my mortality, accepting it is a different story. Knowing something for me does not mean always accepting it because I can’t help but hope for otherwise.
But when the inevitable hits you, it just hits you. Like a bandaid ripped off your skin, like a blow to your cheek, like a scream.
Death is as quick as switching off a light, says my Philosophy professor. You’re just gone and it’s terrible that you left this world unknown to what was next. Death comes up in many ways and it catches you off guard. It does not choose who to get and even one who wishes to live life to the fullest can only live so much in the end.
If we were taught how to live with grief, to live with the death of a loved one, things would have been different. When someone close to us dies, a part of us dies too. She is consumed into the black embers of the abyss of nothingness and we are consumed for a while: consumed in disbelief and shock, we are led to move on at some point but at this stage, how?
Teach us your ways.
So it’s not entirely true that when someone dies, we don’t feel death at all. The numbness of the pain, the heaviness of our hearts, our labored breathing as we try to accept the truth once we know, and the failure to process because once we try, the deed’s done. Tell me, aren’t those symptoms the closest at least?
All I know is life moves forward and Mikko, wherever you are, we will remember you to the point where words run out and our thought continuums cease to continue. To the point where we no longer feel loss but acceptance and a rise in our spirits, that we are more aware of lives we all have to live. Your existences lies no longer in a physical way, but in a stream of finite infinity: a human infinity. Your existence exists within us now: in words, spoken or unspoken; and in our minds.
For Mikko Ona, you lived a great life, you were loved. Rest in peace.
(And condolences to the Ona family.)