Curse of a dead child

When parents lose their kid, the biggest victim tends to be the relationship the two once shared. The bond that their child held for them comes under scrutiny. And many a times, the void sucks both the individuals into a place that they never knew existed. A place where cute memories that were meant to cheer them up begin to chide them. A place where could-have and should-have dominate. A place where pain is excruciating but the source becomes misleading. The worst possible scenario is a place where both the parents have turned on each other instead of sticking with each another. In such a case, the healing process gets abandoned. When you lose, you are meant to grieve for a certain period of time before jolting back to reality. When two grown-ups are blaming each other (secretly or openly), both the individuals set on an irredeemable path to damage themselves more than their better half. That's how tragedy strikes in a heart. When my mother lost my younger brother in her arms (he choked on a tablet), my dad was away in Bombay. When he returned home for the funeral, he didn't utter a word. For days, he maintained silence while my mother kept weeping. In the coming years, during spiteful arguments, my dad used to accuse my ma of negligence (murder is too strong a word, right?). Some things are indeed beyond debate and repair. Particularly when neither of the parents know how to deal with a loss.