There are times when you meet someone and you look into their tired eyes and notice their brittle, fragile throat and realise...they are dying. They don't know it yet, but maybe, on one level, they do. And so they have stopped clinging to life.
They open their hands gracefully and give it up. Because the last person who loves them is leaving.
And when nobody remains who loves, who really loves you, what else is there?
I never understood you before. I never understood this before, until my own mother died.
And after navigating the thorny briars of grief and standing still for a long time, I started moving out of it. But life had lost some of its savour that would never be regained.
We could work very hard and ensure that the facade was OK. The externals were taken care of.
But something, something essential was lost.
Maybe it had always been lost, maybe I lost it, we lost it, along the way and didn't notice because there were people there holding us up, so we didn't see.
And now I watch you, quietly receding.
If you've decided to go, I will support you.
But before that, let's celebrate, let's have some fun.
If you're going to leave this life, leave it smiling.
