In the blink of an eye, she was gone. Her life over, mine destroyed. Yes, I received dozens of condolence cards expressing sympathy and grief, but after reading the first two, I let the trash can enjoy the rest. “ Stay strong”…”We’re here for”… Were these people kidding? Would they just leave me alone and stop pretending like they understood how I felt? Sending someone a condolence card is like putting a Band-Aid on a colossal gaping wound: absolutely useless. They should just save their stationary for birthdays.
Just as the naiveté of these cards drove me crazy, so did the ignorance of Mother Nature. Despite the inexplicable pain that overwhelmed me, the sun still rose, the flowers still bloomed and the days still became months. Little girls in braids continued to play in the neighborhood playground, the Italian baker continued to smoke his cigar outside of his café, and the elevator man continued to whistle that unknown tune. Everything and everyone kept moving forward, while I remained stuck.
It seemed my new hobby was to wallow in my own sorrow, and I think I came quite close to mastering the skill. In fact, thanks to my supportive friends and my full mailbox of condolence cards, I was able to practice my hobby quite frequently. So, I guess those cards weren’t so useless after all!