I was 42, hadn’t talked to my uncle in years. I did not know he was dying… I found myself one night at sunset, walking the beaches we’d visit with him when we were kids, watching the sunset and reading poetry on death and dying. Woke up
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I remember asking you to move to my home so I could take care of you. You did not wish to, so I flew back and forth every month to be with you. I flew back for your 50th birthday and left New Year’s Day. You died
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Hey Dad — Weren’t we lucky to be together when you drew your last, laboured breath? I am eternally grateful for all that you did for me; for all that we shared; and for all of the memories I will cherish — until I take my last,
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Who do I write about? 1) The abrupt death of my husband 20 years ago? Or, 2) What I am going through now with the slow death from dementia of my sister? Both are hard — not sure if one is harder than the other. Not sure
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I cared for my mother in the last 4 months of her life. She learned to Surrender And Become My Baby. It was a privilege to have held her as she took her last breath. Forever changed gratitude abounds.
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For me there is a comfort in sadness. There is comfort knowing the end is inevitable for all of us and we all come to the same place. I teared up with the piece missing the person in the photo. It is so simply and cleanly shows
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I had never attended the death of my child before. I didn’t always do it right. I didn’t always know what to do. So I did as I had done throughout your life. I sang to you, I stroked your hair, but I didn’t hold you. Moving
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I am grateful to have had two “opportunities” in the last six years to deal with my mortality. I now know that life is short & small, and that to be at all ungrateful for any day is a serious error of judgment. Life is wonderful! Live
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To my daddy I will never forget that morning, when you walked out the door, saying you’d be back in time for supper… Then the phone call that your plane had crashed… and seeing you with 3rd degree burns on 90% of your body. You died 3
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Funny thing eh!! I’ve teaching a course on grief loss and death for 21 years, but I was not prepared for the exhibit — too visual; the tables were turned on my concepts. Could be because I had the flu, but some letters of reflection penetrated —
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