I painstakingly pieced this story from the several treasured excerpts of her diary
You must have a divine heart to be so full of vigor when life is a misery, filled with it like a precious vase… – Olya Aman
My mother makes beauty beautiful.
She dreams in words of love and hope when her life is tragic enough to make my face distort with darkness.
Her life is a sad song for an outsider and a bright red fire for those who have the privilege to know the divine rebellion of her smile, the cheering appreciativeness of her spirit, and the great resoluteness of her mind.
My mother gifted me with her beautiful diary on my 30th birthday. I painstakingly pieced this story from the several treasured excerpts from it.
Grace Your Life with the Presence of a Diary
Life may seem vengeful. When a beloved person is forever lost the existence appears empty. A painful loss sternly represses breathing although the chest is heaving with passionate feeling. Eyes become blind to all life attractions, ears deaf to all the words of love and affection. Every living being that still keeps smiling looks so provokingly heartless and mindless.
May 1988: “I buried myself in the full of soul eyes of my dying husband. I know I need to think of my dear child and myself for her sake, but it is so hard to tear myself from his bedside. His sufferings make my heart weep. I wish I could sacrifice myself and save him. His voice rising painfully when he holds my hand and pronounces my name. I quiver with restrained grief and smile to cheer him up.”
My father was going through tormenting sufferings on his way to the end of life. His pain, the result of advanced incurable cancer, was inadequately relieved. The question of surgery was not even possible to discuss. It was too late.
May 1988: “My diary is my salvation. I often write and hold his hand in mine. I put on paper what I feel and fold it in two. I plead and pray to God and hide it in my soul.”
July 1988: “He is in constant pain but looks the very incarnation of quiet bravery and love. Even in his intolerable condition, he strives to carry away my disquietude by talking about the beauty of life after death and the pleasure I should feel on this earth even when he will leave me.”
August 1988: “Whenever he is awake from his tired slumber he asks me to write the messages to daughter so I can deliver it to her when she will grow up to understand the preciousness of every word that was voiced through pain and suffering. I like to listen to his sentiments. I love his extreme good sense, his exquisite taste, and the feeling of life. He urges our girl to be uncompromisingly bold in the defense of her opinion and life principals, to be earnest and keen in pursuing her dreams, and to win the esteem of her mother and father by vindicating her character from any unkind inclination.”
Let Place, People, and Obligations Comfort Your Spirit
The freedom of nature and tranquility of some quiet shelter gives a sense of repose and expansion to the mind. When you take your place on a bench under your favorite tree it opens the floodgates of your soul. Here in loneliness, you can pour away the tears of grief. Being with beautiful life one on one you can learn all over again to feel the rays of sunshine with your soul and to experience the freshness of breeze with your heart.
October 1988: “With an agitated, burning heart and brain, I live through every minute of my life without him. How do I dare to live when he is not among the living? The one who in intellect, in purity and elevation of soul, was immeasurably superior to anyone I know. I rush outside to cool my feelings in the balmy winter air, and to compose myself each time I feel the hot tears coming to my throat. The solitude of my garden helps me to put on a gleeful smile to cheer my child.”
December 1988: “The poison of this loss spreads through all my essence. I now recognize its harmful intentions. The serious depth of it may kill life within me. I fight it, turn my back upon it. I seek retirement for my pain in taking care of my girl. She is my salvation. I let my head to be carried away by her childish ideas. There is no better cure like a merry, simple-hearted child — ever ready to cement broken heart, to melt the ice of freezing soul, and overthrow the walls of sorrowful isolation.”
Open up Your Heart to a Friend
It is an overwhelming toil to be in constant grief. Everyone needs to recover from the effects of it and a close attachment to the living dear people is the best cure in this case. A heartfelt conversation with a friend can fill you with faith, hope, and joy. It will drive away the keen regrets and bitter dregs of lingering sorrow that still oppresses your heart.
March 1989: “My mother is my faithful friend. When I see a flash of love in her eyes, a glow of sincere care on her face — I think that one day I will cease to feel this pain. When throbbing recollection flashes upon me, and a cloud of sorrow darkens my eyes, I talk to her: in person, on the phone, or in my mind, and a moment of inward conflict gives place to quiet conduct. I start to behave with exceeding calmness so that she never had to reprove me once.”
Delightful and Fruitful Activity
Perhaps another great healing technique would be an activity, business, hobby — the mode of actions that is enjoyable to the utmost degree for you. Keeping yourself busy and enjoying every moment of it is not a job, it is a recovery process that cures your heart and heals your soul. Leading an active life prevents you from disturbing your own heart by touching upon the infectious thoughts of loss and grief too often.
November 1989: “I started my diary with more truth than wisdom. In the beginning, I was still fearing to be rooted to my loss. Often the paroxysm of pain and despair was preventing me from saying what I was intended to say. A torrent of tears stained the pages with misery, and I prayed for forgetfulness. But only memory gave life to my words. Never do I endure so long, so blissful nights as when I write. I go through every moment of happiness and pain all over again. My goal is to keep the fire of my foaming and swelling with emotions life engaging and bright, so it warms the heart of my child when I give it to her to read and remember.”
September 1990: “Smiles and tears are so alike with me. I often cry when there is nothing left but to laugh and smile when I am in bitter grief. My diary is my remedy. I feel graceful easiness and freedom about all I do these days. The expansion that this new activity gives to my mind is so refreshing.”
October 1990: “I cannot stop writing. A broad sea is rolling between my past and present. My soul is forever united to the one that is dead in body but always living in my heart. My husband is my everyday companion. I feel his soothing presence. And this feeling of our reunion is not sad anymore, but rejuvenating.”
My mother started a diary and found consolation in putting her feelings on paper. Writing those down by-the-by brought consolation. It brightened the doomed comprehension of life. The melancholy musings and painful lamentations stayed on paper.
The words of sorrow, written in her diary, purchased solace and tranquility.
Conclusion
To find an antidote to painful emotions is essential. Grief, when left alone, may carry you away against any reason and will. It breathes a tired apathy born of long sorrow and hopelessness. You need to fight for your life and happiness every day for the sake of those who are living and for those who are no longer among us.
To be a prey to distressful feelings is a sad destiny. To do our utmost to live life happily is the only installment of our universal debt. There is certain graceful ease about being busy with daily life, household chores, taking care of the kids. These activities distract from painful recollections. When you remind yourself that there are still living people that need your attention, you tend to forget to torment yourself with thoughts about death — life is calling you to be present and active.
Stay tuned…
Olya Aman 