Our Dad passed away last weekend. In his passing, he taught the same lessons in death as he had during life; courage, strength and grace.
It feels cathartic to capture the poetic of observations, inner thoughts and meanderings. Sat encapsulated in the sterile ward environment, I scribbled on my page in an attempt to explain what was happening, while the platelets of my very existence seemed to shift.
I did not realise what a great privilege it is to share death with a loved one in this way. To stay close and reassure them with pure love. I'm not sure I will ever quite feel the same although I can't work out exactly what has changed.
There was a postcard on the side advertising beautiful wicker caskets with ivy and flowers inter-twined. I commented on how lovely it was and how I would like one when my time came. The Funeral Director said I would need to start saving as they are very expensive. I told him with a wry smile, that hopefully I have another 40 years left and perhaps I could weave my own in that time.
I am left with this thought ...