Death is an evil muse, an uninvited bitch, tearing our fragile heart out without a thought. Emotions can be like a roller coaster climbing to highs of comfort and acceptance, then down with the sweet memories that you have in the dark, alone. You try to hear their voice again, remember their touch. Confusion and sadness can drape the survivors, who wonder if there is a God. “Why” echoes throughout the grieved, a question that is flatly unanswered.
I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. I am on the threshold of my elder years and am starting to feel the tender pain of loss. A pain that time will conveniently tuck away. Hardly any time goes by that I hear of a death of someone I know or know of. It’s depressing. A dear friend has just passed and that caused me a quiet agony for all the memories we will never have. Life without her has left a wide gaping hole. She touched my life so profoundly that I feel like I’m a better person because of her.
The fear of having so many empty holes in my life scares me. No one lives forever, however, we carry on as if death is a whisper that we cover our ears not to hear. But our eyes and hands can see it coming after those who suffer. All we can do is helplessly look on. Dad is now fragile and is quickly failing. He is like the living dead. Every visit is our last, every hug is tighter, every laugh turns into quiet tears. My ability to handle his impending death is doubtful. I can’t bring myself to prepare.
I wish I knew what exactly I’m trying to say. I just know that I am afraid of death. Afraid of the aftermath, the sorrow, the loss. And angry, yes angry! I want my “whys” to be answered, but alas it’s not for me to know. I guess the only answer to feeling this way is to live. Don’t take the people in your life for granted. Stop and have that conversation with your neighbor, turn off the TV and call a friend, hug for just a few seconds longer and build fabulous memories. Because when you remember, you honor a life in a way that keeps them in your heart forever.