Tragedy Comes Without A Notice

Exactly at 6 am on the 19th of December my family was notified of the death of a man that was a grandfather to me during my whole life in place of my real one who I only met once in my whole life. He was the person who had showed me the beauty of dreams. Believed in my talents and capabilities that went unnoticed by everyone else in my life. I didn’t need to hide myself from him. I was able to be myself in front of him and he made me feel proud about it, not ashamed. I still haven’t forgotten how truly amazing it felt to just be overjoyed of who you are as a person. He made me feel that and to hear he was gone I don’t know what to think. Is it wrong that I can’t cry?

It feels like deja vu when I was going through a similar period several years ago and wrote a poem that went on to be published in an anthology of poetry by young Americans. I was 12 then and when my teacher read it before submitting it she asked if it had anything to do with me. I lied. I had said no then and dutifully described the image of a beautiful imaginary girl as the main character within the poem to indicate no signs that it had nothing to do with me because how could I tell her that it had everything to do with me. That 12 year old girl had written this based on her own experiences and own emotions. I found it fitting to confess today the truth and post the poem that so well expressed how I feel now. Better late than never…

One-Way Street

One who fades away,

People tell me we all have a wall

In the middle of our path

We must climb it and go over the top

To continue what was started

But every time I reach the middle hanging high

I feel a part of me left behind

I hear a paper crinkling

My face unwavering

My black dress matching the wind’s speed

Bouncing lightly midair

The sobs and cries deafening to my ears

Who was this person to me? No one,

Echoing in my darkest, blackest hole of secrets

Where nothing has ever emerged before,

Spilling not one tear

The coffin box is shut with my dry cheek

Burning against the sun’s scorching heat

Those same crystal clear blue eyes

Spilling not one tear for someone unknown

This is a one-way street

But why do I believe there is another way out of this

I’m surrounded by corpses

I know how to be one of them

Cause that is the only thing I seem to see

Feeling the wrath of death upon my head

People say the world will end with destruction

But my world was destroyed long ago

The remains of my world burst into embers of ashes

Seeping through the small of my fingers

The burning sensation upon my skin

My delicate, soft red hair moving swiftly and wildly

Against the scorching heat

The color matching the delicate touch of fire

Covering me from a final glance of my world

Not hearing one utter or answer

It isn’t destruction’s fault, I mutter

This is a one-way street


It was a difficult time for me then. My family considers me very emotional and at that time I was dealing with handling all the pain and suffering in the world that I was helpless for. I could do nothing to help thousands of people and I was lost on how to deal with the fact of moving on and living my life while helping the few that I could. So, finding that I was emotionless about the loss of someone I knew yet so emotionally attached to complete strangers I’d never met, I was scared of myself…of my detachment. However, I was learning to slowly digest the truth then that the world is a one way street no matter how many ways we look at it and the faster we accept it, the easier it gets to live in the little time we have before a tragedy comes knocking at our door without a notice.



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