Death of a parent is the most unique, tragic lived experience we are subjected to, as Jordan Peterson says. The grief that seeps deep into our soul stains us forever, burns us forever. We all take life for granted, those who live for us for granted. The thought that I will no longer see, hear the person I have known since birth flits across my conscious mind, refusing to stay long because it seems quite unreal. It has not really been understood by my mind though I know the facts and I have acted accordingly for all practical purposes. There just doesn't seem to be a way out of the pain, guilt trips I take constantly or the horror of the reality I have not yet found the courage to face.
I miss the complexity of the book and am tired of the predictability of people. Reading each page of a book takes you to a different realm, and often surprises you with its observations. I agree books are written by people, but why do people remain predictable in life and unpredictable in fiction?
Indeed death of a parent is an unknow the mind which exists only by the known struggles to reconcile with. Nevertheless, in not trying to escape from the fact, in staying with and looking at the structure of the whole movement of the mind through grief, guilt, fear, one may find true understanding of death as integral part of life and find freedom from all the disorders.
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