“ She was saying goodbye and she didn’t even know it”.
The Book Thief.
I think she knew it. I think she thought about it before letting go.
I did not believe it at first. Why would I? Did she not seem to be doing better? Nevertheless, it was true. She had actually gone to the world that fascinated her. I had subconsciously been aware that this side of the world did not make her feel at home. I knew she had always been a misfit.
I knew that for a long time. I never thought that her seemingly curious questions came from long drawn thoughts and the sleepless nights she spent mulling over them. I never knew she had tried to find answers to so many questions.
I knew her favorite book was the Book Thief. It was after she left that I figured why. I understood what drew her to the book.
After the news came in, the messages started pouring in. They all said how good she was.
She was only 21. Somehow, most people were able to recall the fun times they had with her in school. They also remembered her as the go-to person for books, movies, and songs.
We would occasionally sit by the lake and watch the sunset. I remember recommending books and movies to each other. I remember the disappointment when I forgot to get her the book I had promised her I would. On numerous occasions, we had discussed what the lyrics of songs meant.
But when I think of her, I cannot help but think of the dark side which had engulfed her. I cannot remember her in black and white. I remember her somewhere in the darker grey. She was an idealist; the world disappointed her with most of its systems.
If anyone knew her, he would know the dark thoughts that she clouded with her smiles. Most people did not. She did not let them in. People did not try enough. She did not care much about that, anyway.
When she was happy, she smiled the broadest smile. She could not take it away. She could not hide that.
Everybody reminisced about the good times that they had with her.
It made me angry to think that nobody told her these while she was alive. I am wondering if she would have done that to herself if this world was kinder. This makes me think about what Morrie in Tuesdays with Morrie.
Morrie is saddened by the realization that the wonderful things people had to say about a person could not reach them once they die.
“What a waste. All those people saying all those wonderful things, and Irv never got to hear any of it,” he said.
Conscious of the limited time he had, he organized a living funeral for himself.
“And on a cold Sunday afternoon, he was joined in his home by a small group of friends and family for a ‘living funeral.’ Each of them spoke and paid tribute to the old professor. Some cried. Some laughed. . . . Morrie cried and laughed with them. And all the heartfelt things we never get to say to those we love, Morrie said that day. His ‘living funeral’ was a rousing success.”
I wish she would have known all of this. But, it is just too late. All we have left is the memories and a lot of unanswered questions.
When I went to her room, I saw the book she got signed by her favorite author. That was the happiest I saw her. That was the last time I saw her.
What made her so unhappy that she took her own life?
Your death does not happen to you. It happens to everyone but you.
