A RESPONSE TO THE LATEST MEDIUM CREATOR HUB PROMPT
That time has walked with us ever since.
In the early evening hours of January 5th, 1996, I remember the time when I sat with my eldest son on the wall of an onramp to the entrance of a private hospital. My wife had just passed away 15 minutes ago. It was excruciatingly painful — body, mind, and soul.
It is still painful to write about it now, but I am sure, with a smile and a nod, my late wife keeps on giving me the go-ahead to talk or write about the time I spent on that wall with my eldest son. We almost always talk or write to each other about that moment. Very rarely to somebody else, unless that person is very close to him or me. This is the first time I write about it publicly.
I have three sons, by the way. Of all the moments with each of them, there is one moment, with each of them, that defined my relationship with them from that painful moment till this day.
This is about the moment I had with my eldest son.
The two strange things that happened on that wall were the silence and the complete disconnection from the concept of time as we know it. We were later told we sat on that wall for a full three hours. Family members had to tap us on our shoulders multiple times to accompany them to a room in the hospital where we could witness the handing over of my late wife’s earthly remains from the hospital to the funeral parlor.
In chats between the two of us over the years, we do not remember that at all.
Since time did not exist for us for that brief moment, and we know we both sat in complete silence, what do we remember of that time?
Our thoughts. It is the strangest thing we have both ever experienced. It was almost as if I could feel what he was feeling at any moment just by what he was thinking. The same goes for him about my thoughts. Over the years, part of our healing process was trying to match the thoughts with the feelings at any particular moment. We both learned a valuable lesson on that wall. Empathy is best expressed WITHOUT the use of language.
There is one thing that both of us do remember. It is the silent interaction with each and everyone that passed us…