The loss of life is something we all have to endure. The immaculate spirit, which resides and warms inside our bodies, must at the appointed time vacate and return to its place of origin.
Whether it takes us by surprise or not, the passing of a loved one leaves in us an emptiness, which we console or rationalise with the tear, or, if one is so inclined, the blessed text. If you are lucky enough, at the moment the last breath is exhumed like a sacred secret finally whispered, it may be that you are gifted patience and peace, a sort of dark yet cool tranquility; but that is not to say that the fact of death will not one day bite, when you least expect it.
… love outlasts death …
But from this crippling weakness comes strength. We contextualise life. We search for and find meaning. We re-prioritise and we resume with assertiveness. We appreciate the fragility of ourselves and our relationships, and so we love each other more, with a different intensity to the hug and to the kiss. We resolve to do better, much better, so that we don’t let them down. We value kinship and friendship, and we are more attentive and endearing in each other’s company. We remember them always, lest we forget.
But despite our best efforts, it will when we least expect it Sting. Not because of life’s innate cruelty – I don’t believe there is such a thing. But because we still love them, and love outlasts death, by a country mile.