silence

This post is not about silence in the usual sense.

It is not about the silence of libraries and waiting rooms, broken only by the occasional cough or the shuffling about of things and people.

Neither is it about the silence of the oppressed or marginalised.

It is not even about the silence of mid-night or early morning, when the streets are empty and the air is still.

As I write this, it is almost seven weeks since my grandma passed away. I will schedule this post to publish at more or less the seven-week mark.

I’m not sure why exactly it’s taken me this long to write about this. It’s not really that it’s been hard to talk about (especially after reading Caitlin Doughty’s Smoke Gets in Your Eyes). Part of it is simply that I didn’t have the time, energy or words.

But I know if I don’t write this, these thoughts will just continue to swirl around in my head indefinitely, waiting for an outlet. So, I suppose, this post is about my silence of the last seven weeks — the silence of loss.

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