It's been exactly forty days since you departed to nonexistence and left us alone contending against this vile world. I'm not quite cognizant of the ancient religious or traditional origins that determined the mourning period to be forty consecutive days, but I have to admit, with utter objectivity, that the duration is very adequate. It's neither too short where it would prematurely dispossess the bereaved ones of their earned grief nor too long where it would eternalize melancholy and internalize it within as an organic component of our already decrepit bodies.
As your body lies down there and your soul floats adjacent to some paradisiacal breeze, I find myself perusing random details pertaining to the life you had before you died and paralleling them with the current reality that is still warbling the hymns of your memories.
Everything is still the same above the ground; you're not missing anything.
The tiny pieces of cloth that my mother used to wipe your mouth with while feeding you are still wet, soft and stained from the last meal you had. Their colors might have faded a bit, but they're still permeated by the aroma of your lacerated skin.
Everything is still the same above the ground; you're not missing a single thing, dad.
That bleak corner where your bed used to be is still echoing with your groans, serving as an everlasting reminder of the inexplicable suffering that had befallen upon your quasi-fleshless bones before you finally demised, and with every breath I take, my weary mind gets blissfully haunted by those sounds that help me evoke your soul.
Believe me...Everything is still the same above the ground; you're missing nothing.
The warmth of your blankets, which is reminiscent of apricity in February, is still palpable and not showing any signs of abating, and the razor I shaved your beard with for the last time is still clutching at the remains of your facial hair.
Indeed, everything is still the same above the ground; you will not miss a thing.
That decaying heart of yours, despite being coated in sand, is still beating within my memory and vitalizing the lifeless days I'm caged in. I hear your heartbeats every time I listen to one of your favorite songs, every time I reminisce about your smile and every time I long for your moodiness.
Everything is still the same above the ground; I still and will always miss you till eternity, dad.
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