Growing up, I have never really felt Death within the proximity of my family or close friends. My paternal grandmother died when I was nine, but I never got to know her intimately so the funeral was a mere chance for me to play with my cousins from distant lands. No one I loved so dearly and known for a long time had ever died, so the only grief I knew came from heartache, betrayal and failure.
I would often study with a clinical detachment the bereavement of my acquaintances. One who lost her grandfather mourned for weeks by posting his picture and anecdotes about him on Facebook. Others would appear pale and shaken, the gaping emotional wounds all too visible on their faces. It is not to say that I am belittling their sorrow. Rather, I simply cannot comprehend it because it has not yet happened to me.
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