The emptiness of life...

EMPTY….

Forlorn and weary, he stared down. Sharp stinging pain welling in his eyes. The optical muscles no doubt had sworn to betray him today.  He tried hard to hold the tears back but two big tear drops eased themselves out of their rather tense environment. They found their course down his cheeks. Big warm salty things that left a trail on either side of his nose that had with time gotten runny. He sneezed involuntarily and a spray of fluids painted an awkward image on his shirt. Bitter feelings engulfed his whole person. Feelings of hate and distaste. Trembling, he opened the eyes he had momentarily shut to prevent a gush of tears. He looked down again tears flowing freely. No need to hold anything back even if it meant draining his tear glands dry. “Why? God, why should you allow this to happen” he asked loud.

Down she laid. Calm as ever and in the fullness of her gory. Tall, skin well toned, curvy and firm chested. Graceful arms, sharp nose, gleamy eyes that were, firm tacit thin lips that just the other day were having fun with his. Hers was a beautiful face that told of a story.

A painful lump built itself up Ryan’s throat. He spat and cursed at the unfairness of life.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you!! You are such a bad reaper!” he swore to his breath and broke down into a fist of sobs that culminated into wails. He wanted to cry himself hoarse.  He grabbed at the now lifeless body of Judith. He stared deep down in her surprisingly open eyes and saw so many possibilities. A dream shattered, a future spoilt, a beauty wasted, a mother denied a daughter and grandchildren, a loss of productive labor force for a nation so much in need, a loss of a friend, a loss of love, a loss of life. A tear cascaded down his chin and directly fell in Judith’s left eye. She slowly closed it as if she had been eagerly waiting for her last dose which in this case had to be administered through her eyes.

 “I loved you dear... I really loved you! So sad that you had to leave so early”

Ryan carefully laid her down on the very bed she had nursed and fought her ailments from. It smelled of olive oil and a mixture of gases identifiable with a medical laboratory. Looking at the shelf, he noticed an array of bottles full to the brim with capsules and tablets that the doctors in their knowledgeable opinion thought were supposed to bring life to his dream girl.

 He shook his head in disbelief and as if in mockery and defiance, a bandage roll came tumbling down from the shelves bringing with it a rather unfriendly syringe that landed between his feet missing her big toe by an inch. He wished it could have hit him hard if only for him to share in the pain that Judith had to endure in her daily jabs. He gave it a kick and it rolled under the bed. He reached for the curtains and drew them an inch as if in a desperate attempts to welcome the world to share in his sorrows. There was no morning sun. No singing birds. No nothing. He could not even see through the mist that engulfed the neighborhood. Cold misty wind blew in. He spotted an owl prying around the garbage heap. Disappointed, he drew back the curtains and noticed by the windowsill a bottle case full of multicolored pills. The labels on the sides shouted that they were sleeping pills. He emptied the contents in his palm and was at the verge of swallowing them all when the family cat jumped in from outside knocking his hand and sending the pills scattered on the floor. He cursed in disgust. With Judith gone, he felt life had lost meaning. He was better dead than alive.

It was Judith that had always brought forth fond memories. He felt nostalgic about almost every moment they spent together. The countless adventures they had in the woods, the tours they had made to children homes, the coffee dates, the boat rides. It is this friend who could keep him waiting for hours at the riverside just for a hug. They had thrown leaves and pebbles in the river and watched them float downstream, counted the ripples made by each pebble throw, kissed and listened to each other breath to while time. They could hold hands and watch the sun set in the horizon sending pale sometimes yellow soft rays that shone on their faces. Judith often seemed transfigured. Her coming home was a thing welcomed by all. Mum was particularly glad at her sense of maturity and gracefulness. The younger siblings adored her smile and big heart that manifested itself in the various gifts she brought home, the sisters rejoiced in her simplicity and talent to plait. Judith was part of them all, how lucky was Ryan?

But then the enemy came. Determined to cause him pain, the enemy hit hard at the death spot. At the very point that mattered. The enemy denied him joy cutting short his dreams. Who was the enemy punishing? Judith or Him? What had the poor soul done to deserve such cruelty?

“Mum, you’ve lost an in-law, sisters you’ve lost a friend, Kenya you’ve lost a nurse, Ryan you’ve lost a wife to be”, He sobbed. Amidst the pain and sobs, he reached for a bed sheet, covered the now lifeless body and made for the door.

“I have to inform mum, I have to inform Linda, and I have to inform the government that Judith is dead”

If only he knew any of her family, if only he knew her background, if only he knew her home, if only he had time to listen to her last wishes.

 He regretted deeply having overlooked all these. He only knew Judith as a Rwandan refugee who had sought custody in Kenya. They met at a UN function, had lunch, exchanged pleasantries and before they realized had gotten so tight and inseparable. Judith was in a Medical school pursuing a diploma in nursing on a sponsorship she declined to disclose. It never really mattered at the time for what they had was a joining of hearts. Ryan, four months after his completion of graduate school with a bachelors degree in commerce was volunteering at the UN as an accounts clerk.

Love and fate brought the two together, for the joy of them all at the beginning but for the loss and pain of one at the end. The transition so unexpected that Ryan, left to lick his wounds in solitude still asks: is there victory in death?