What do you do when you stare death in the face?? Squarely in the eyes?? When there's nowhere to look but at that ugly brute beast? There - standing right there - forcing you to reconcile truths your mind would rather reject?
What do you do?
My grandmother died this morning. In her sleep. She was my mother's mother. She was, therefore I am. And now that she has gone, a piece of me goes with her. A piece of me. And a piece of my mother.
What do you do with that knowledge? WHat do I do with these seconds of slow realisation that I will never, ever see her again? Never hear that laugh again? Never see that smile again? Never learn anything more about that life from the one who lived it? Because it is over. That chapter is over. That book is permanently closed.
And here I am. Wondering. Waiting.
Waiting to inhale and let the truth in. Waiting to exhale and let the sadness out.
Here I am, waiting to feel something in a heart that suddenly refuses to feel.