Death disrupts the fabric of our stories

I am reminded again, in the most unavoidable way, of the fragility of life. How is it that after a death the world can never possibly be the same, yet life carries on?

The irretrievability of death feels absolute. A person can never be replaced, what someone means to us is totally unrepeatable. Everything is turned upside down when the death of a loved one occurs – the landscape is at once subjectively alien and unfamiliar, but with the entities therein being objectively remarkably similar to the way they’ve always been.

Of course I’m grateful to have known people whose absence leaves such a void in my life. I am blessed to have people to weave my stories around, to anchor them in place as I make sense of the everything around me. I’m glad to have collaborated and to continue to collaborate with some wonderful, wonderful people in narrating a path through the world in all its painfully fragile beauty. Even if that also means feeling the loss of these dear people soul numbingly keenly.

But I do wish my eyes were not heavy and sore from crying.

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