Themes of Eternity: Age

Shouja
I held the hand of the withered old man lying on the bed in front of me. His breathing was laboured, and his eyes were slowly becoming vacant. Rheumatism and arthritis had locked his joints a few years ago. It was painful to watch. So painful. Marilyn was seated beside me, her golden-red locks tumbling over my chest as she rested her head against my shoulder. We had maintained a vigil all throughout the night, and she was exhausted. The bride of my youth, still as young and beautiful as they day I had married her. But her eyes shone with unshed tears - tears that she could not show in front of the old man lying on the bed in front of us, gazing up at us with wondering eyes. I put my arm around her and drew her close. My strong, well-muscled arm, full of life and youthful vigor. It was such a large contrast to the frail, weak limbs of the man lying on the bed that I momentarily choked. But I could not cry. I had to be strong, for Marilyn, for him. I did not want his last lucid memory of us to be one of sadness, but of comfort and strength. He was looking at me now, gazing at my features with fond, loving eyes. I remembered those eyes. People said that we didn't look anything like each other, until they saw our eyes. It was the one feature that marked us as father and son. But those warm, brown eyes were now clouded and vague. The light was slowly becoming dim in them, but we knew that it would never truly fade. Why? Why, o Gods, did this happen? He was dying, but yet not dead. A life that could never be fully complete, hanging on, and making the living suffer by his existence. All my joy at meeting him again had turned into the bitterest ashes. Other families had congratulated us on being able to meet up again, even after death. It was our great fortune that the barriers to the underworld had been broken and we had been restored to unity. Was it really that great? A wellspring of bitterness arose in my heart. Marilyn and I had been returned to our youthful selves, as young as the day when we first met. But... But... time had passed. The world had continued to revolve after our deaths. And people had grown old. If I had known then what I knew now, I would never have wished to be resurrected. Death was peace, life is torment. The light in his eyes faded away to dimness. His mind would never be able to recognise us again, even though his body might still live on. Marilyn buried her face in my chest and released the sobs she had been holding back. Parents should never have to watch their son grow old and die before them.