I don’t know too much about premonitions and sixth sense. I guess some people are more finely tuned to the environment. I am certainly not one of them. I hardly know what is happening with my own body, forget about the environment.
Still, early this week, I experienced a strange heaviness, like all the world’s burdens were on me. I felt lousy, depressed, and a kind of desperation cloaked me throughout the day. Even my usual evening walk that cheers me up on a dull day did nothing to lift my spirits. Sitting alone in the night, unbidden tears rolled down my cheeks in a continuous stream. Grief settled in my chest like a stone.
The next morning, I felt a strong urge to reach out to a close friend who was going through difficult times since her MIL (whom we were also very close to) was ill. I texted her prayers and wishes, which is not something I normally do, given that we meet practically every day. In a little while, the heaviness I had felt lifted.
Within the hour, her MIL passed away.
Was it just coincidence? Or is there a different, more “sixth-sensey” explanation? I don’t believe I’m going to get an answer to that, but I tend towards dismissing it as a coincidence, maybe just some hormones acting up or something.
However, my sister reported feeling exactly the same way when one of her colleagues was not well, and the heaviness lifted just before she received the phone call about the demise. Does that mean there are others out there, receiving these mysterious signals?
There’s the other thing. I’ve become wary of July. My BIL died in July. So did my uncle. So did a close friend’s FIL. I was worried about this year’s July. Except it happened in June itself. That should clearly debunk my July wariness. Instead, June and July have now coagulated into a red alert period in my mind. The way the mind works is perverse, isn’t it?
Every time a loved one dies, it causes us to die a little as well. In the immediate aftermath, it is utterly inconceivable that people can continue to laugh and talk and eat and sleep, oblivious to the fact that a heart has stopped beating, a body has stopped breathing, a life has disappeared, just like that.
And yet, we get back on track after a while, we forget in short bursts and then in longer and longer bursts of time, and soon we pack the memories and bury them in our trunks under heaps of day-to-day trivia.
When we die too, life will go on. Business as usual. So full of ourselves we are, so hard to imagine we are as fragile as soap bubbles. One pop, and it’s all over.
And life still goes on.