The living Dead


A couple years ago, my great grandmother died. I remember her sister, who was in her 90s as well, was very upset because she couldn’t see her well due to her failing vision, another one of my relatives told her that she looked beautiful & peaceful, that she didn’t have any makeup on & her dress was very nice. After they walked away, I approached the casket to see her. It was all wrong. It wasn’t the little old lady I used to see when I was a child. All the life had left her, her soul had left her body, and I could tell. While that is one of the most painful things to experience, I think the worst thing, similar to this is that happening before somebody has died. Looking at somebody, seeing the face you should recognize, but don’t. All you can see are eyes hollow of anything beautiful; empty. Something died inside them & you can see it. Whether it was love, their will to live, the person they used to be, or the person you thought they were. You can never see them the same ever again after that. All you see is the emptiness, that darkness. Even if you could see past that, it’s almost as if you don’t want to. You want to hate them for changing. And you do. Seeing old pictures, happy memories captured on film it nearly breaks you in two. Because that person is dead to you, or you at least wish they were. They’re dead but they’re still walking around, hollowed out versions of who the used to be. Posted at 2:46 AM 2 notes Permalink ∞

Again the insight of a 15yr old who is wise beyond her years never ceases to amaze me.


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