Blast Past

There was no trace of self-pity in her narration. My friend who I was meeting after 27 years was telling me her life story, the sequence of events that led to a tragedy, her own discovery of it and its inescapable aftermath and yet, not once did I hear her wonder why it had happened to her. Couldn't she have been spared? What had she done to deserve this? There was none of that slippery slope of bitterness.

What there was, was enormous sadness. Despite her best efforts a rogue tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. I sensed a resounding bulk of grief that seemed to choke at the throat and in its rawness, must have chafed at skin and worn her limbs down. Yet there was an unquestioning acceptance of the card that she had been dealt with and perhaps it was this acceptance that had helped her keep a lightness of touch. And absolute grace. As I reacquainted myself with my old friend, I learnt that her personal devastation had, rather remarkably led to something else. Something that has her radiating in happiness these days.

I cannot say I knew my friend that well when we were young. But I am awestruck by the person she has evolved into. And in the short hours of her stay here, she managed to leave the gold dust of her presence here. Something for me to savour in the days to come.