The commonality of sudden death leaves me wondering about those who wake, days or months after the passing of a loved one, to a stark landscape – rearranged but never restored.
I have little standing to mourn the Keeper. Never married nor lovers, not related in any way except by the stunning and lucky recognition of a common mind decades ago. Good friends are forever – except when they are not.
In a life where death is assured, grief has an odd role. It is to be dealt with, gotten through or over, and its light grey coloring of the world overcome. There are many commentators more artful than me who can describe the textures of its peculiar, forced friendship.
Grief delivers liminal space. A place where life washes over itself like water tumbling around stones in the finest mountain stream of your memory. Ever the same as you watch, but lost when attention shifts. Is anyone ever really gone? Hard to keep up with the coming, and the going.
One thing is certain. The Keeper, along with most loved ones, would likely prefer to be fondly remembered, rather than mourned.
I am just not there yet.
Shouldn't...but Do 