While taking a break from studying I met an old colleague from the time I worked at the faculty as an intern. His son passed away some months ago while travelling in the Himalayas. He was my age.
I was surprised to see my colleague, and he to see me. How haggered and torn he looked, sorrow written on his face, grief showing through the blank stare in his eyes. I wasn't sure what to say, but, perhaps awkwardly, asked how he was feeling, and how he's been coping.
"It's the darkest period of my life...", he replied, shaking his head, and looking down at the ground.
As he left after our brief encounter, I told him those words I say to everyone whenever I part company with: "Take care..."
And this time I meant it, more and with more meaning, than ever more. He grabbed me by the arm and patted it gently, like a father would. His eyes seemed to shimmer.
His son was my age.
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