Compartmentalizing tasks, roles, emotions; it’s what we all do to make sure that life moves forward and that the carousel never stops turning. Yet, we are only saving these misplaced emotions, procrastinating having to feel like we should. Having to succumb to what seems like endless tears or an eternal fiery rage. Without anyone to blame, but fate itself. Without justification for deprivation, we tie ourselves up mentally and emotionally. So, we won’t have to physically fall to our knees and weep not knowing when our body will dehydrate itself to the point where our depression can no longer come out in the form of tears. And, all we feel is a sorrow filled emptiness, one that forces us to rethink our own purpose in life, our motivation to wake up the next morning and continue doing so every morning thereafter. We strive to redefine our sole reason to fight through the many obstacles of life, even if we are ever diagnosed with our rarely defeated enemy: cancer. Or worse, if it’s all taken from us due to a one-minute decision of whether to turn left or right as we cross the road. They call it the butterfly effect, but never would anyone assume that such a fragile insect could be the cause of a fully grown 6 ft. man lying on his deathbed. Never, would he himself expect to need the care of world-class surgeons. Much less, would he expect that even with all of their successful efforts, those world-class surgeons would still deliver unfortunate news to his family due to circumstantial medical unpredictabilities.

For all those involved, time seems to travel differently in this bubble of overwhelming sadness. The proceeding seconds drag long enough to sustain as minutes, and the minutes become hours, and the hours seem to crawl by slower than days. This cycle of stagnancy carries on until we find it again. That moment that makes us want to hold onto life, that makes us want to fight every battle we can to stay alive. Because in that moment we make peace with the fact that we have found our passed loved ones smiling back at us in the form of our son, niece, or another or have found happiness in what used to be their joys, or have found a way to love parts of ourselves that have adapted to mold to the person that we just can’t let go until our very last breath. Somehow, or someway the family must move on because the carousel will never stop turning. And, again the miracle of life takes its course as we selfishly continue to hold onto that one person, until we no longer hear the chiming sound as our carousel comes to a stop.