Life

There's an image in my head from today that I'm not sure is going to go away for a little while. Lifeless and cool, and gaunt, and young. I'm an onlooker, a person who has life looking at a person who does not. A house filled and surrounded by family and friends in various stages of grief. The driveway packed with cars and bikes, people walking sombrely, sitting quietly, or just not sure where to go or what to do. It was an anticipated death; as cancer death usually is.

While surrounded by death or the prospect of it quite routinely with my work, I'm not frequently there at these moments. Entering as an unknown entity to such a situation is quite an alien experience. Not one I like or would recommend. But the images in my head and the hush of their grief are unforgetable. He was 32.

Life is a fickle thing. A funny and warm and beautiful fickle thing, filled with love if we let it be so.