Heavy fog this morning, chaining down the night, and the garbage trucks are out collecting, and I’m inside without a light on. Dear friend, what’s it like to be given an expiration date? That’s what I’m wondering about — while outside in the dark, the hydraulic clang and roar of diesel digests a street of waste. I’m trying to find a way into that moment, in that office, that sterile room, and those razor words, the colour of cobalt, coming at you, dropping from the lips of a bleached lab coat. Words that grow, metastasize in your mind and in the mind of your dear one: “I can’t breathe,” is what she said, and then hundreds of miles away, here in the dark, I couldn’t breathe — brain shatters, fingers freeze to the keys. Please, I pray to anything and everywhere, more time, more aliveness, more justice, for one whose humour we can’t afford to go without; and when I say, we, I mean this whole freaking country, weeping planet, we can’t afford it, it’s morose enough. Please, less pain, less grief, less absence, less dying, and I’m thinking of his kids, and theirs, those grand-little-ones; and his partner, who’d parted but partnered once more — a graced second chance at joy — whose losses are ample enough, her sorrow, sorrow enough. Friend, please — you know we’re selfish — how will we
I want to say more….but, for today, sending love
Thank you, Rose.
I’m sorry 😢
Love you dad, thanks for sharing your words 🫂
Thank you, my son. Love to you, and compassion and hope.
Love & kindness to surround you Stephen,
and your dear friend ♥♥
Thank you!
I really like this!
Thank you, Rosemary!
Thank you, Sue.