Jude is different.
Her departure from this world with such a resolute and fierce attitude was something I had never imagined.
From kindergarten to university, children have walked together, parents have gone from strangers to acquaintances, and even friends, all because of the interactions between their children, creating a special bond.
Even though we became friends with the parents of the children, we still address each other as "so-and-so's dad" or "so-and-so's mom," as if to add a special attribute to this social relationship.
Judy is different. She is a parent, and we call her Judy. She is herself, with a name and a surname, not just someone's mother. She is called Judy, and she is truly unique.
Judy is beautiful, often travels for work, and at one point, I thought she was a flight attendant. Our families, connected through our children being classmates and friends, always seem to run into each other.
I remember the first time I met Judy. She knocked on my door and asked if her son was here. I said he should be playing at school with my son. I invited her in to sit for a while, but she said she had to leave.
My daughter and I often played badminton at the doorstep and would see her and her son walking by, occasionally stopping to chat and exchange greetings.
Judy is different. She has a respectable job and a seemingly happy family. I truly cannot understand why she chose to do what she did.
Lu Xun once said, "Everyone's joys and sorrows are different." No one can truly understand another's pain. Her choice must have had its reasons, but from now on, we will never know.
After days of high temperatures suddenly subsided, night fell, and news of an approaching typhoon spread. The air was filled with the impending storm. Occasionally, a few raindrops fell in the yard, and I couldn't tell if it was the air conditioner's condensation or my tears.
My wife was deeply saddened upon hearing the news. She had tried several times to bring Judy into our small circle of friends, to bring our families closer together, to have all the parents gather for tea, chat, complain about their children's grades, and share bits of life. However, she always seemed busy, perhaps refusing.
Everyone has their own life to face, with eighty percent of it being bitter. If there was a small courtyard, with a few chance encounters, coming together to talk and share, life's difficulties might not diminish, but for those who want to end this painful and helpless life, it might lighten the burden.
Judy is different. At five in the morning, by the river, with no one around, dust rose as cars passed by. Not far away, a group of people hurriedly walked by, their expressions filled with sorrow.
In the drizzle and gusty wind, the birds were silent, and electronic cannons were deafening. Four people carried a coffin in a rush. I never thought she would bid farewell to me and this world in such a way.
Despite our brief encounter, I could never remember her face, as if she never truly belonged to this world, always floating in it.
Everyone who knew her said that such a gentle and beautiful girl could be so desperate about life. In the cold darkness, she gave up all attachment to the world.
Isn't what people call depression just deep despair towards this world? But no one knows why Judy's despair arose, her story is only known to the wind.
I believe that in her final moments, God must have sent the wind to tell her that there might still be some beauty in the world, but she refused.
A feeling I had never experienced before, clear and intense, like the rain before a typhoon, gripped my heart. I knew it was grief.
Because Judy is different.