I have worked with hundreds of people who have lost someone close to them. Death comes as a part of the natural cycle of life. The challenge is that we never know when. I held my brothers hand as he died and I recall the sudden gasp of his last breath. My physical relationship with him ended and I was astonished at how frail these bodies are. I want to say that it changed me in some powerful way or that I am happy to have a spirit filled relationship with him, but I can't. The truth is I miss him. The long walks bantering about philosophy, late nights drinking pints of beer or the hours we spent at 'fringe festivals' grading the plays we saw.
I can accept death as a part of my journey, but I am more profoundly moved by the intensely personal experience it can be. I changed as he died. Perhaps it made me stronger or sometimes I think, more vulnerable. Either way I find myself being more mindful of my days. Listening to the wind, following the pattern of bird songs or listening to the laughter of children. Sometimes I simply marvel at the sound of my breath. TJS
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