Loss is something we all face across the years of our life. The circle of life includes the end stage, Death, and we can do nothing to avoid it. We all face Death; it is profound and life-changing for many of us. Death forces us to examine our own lives every single time someone we know dies, whether that person is a casual acquaintance or dearly beloved. Whoever the dead is, we are touched somehow; we look inward despite ourselves.
Death has a texture. Sometimes it is smooth, even comforting. The Death of a loved one after a long illness can be velvet or a long breath released into the night. We are glad for them; they no longer feel pain, and they are no longer suffering. We feel all of this even as we mourn their loss and wonder about the hole in our spirit where they dwelled.
Sudden and unexpected Death leaves you shaken and raw from the inside out. This is the texture of burlap, scratchy and sometimes unyielding; breathing is sometimes forgotten between tears and screams to unhearing ears. Our mourning comes later, after anger and desolation.
As we get older ourselves, we expect Death. We have seen it, some of us more than others. We have buried parents, siblings, friends and even spouses. We have attended the funerals of loved ones and friends. We sent prayers and condolences and too often wondered why them and not us.
We whisper to God a brief prayer to care for those we love. Then we ask again, why them?
Death is the texture of maelstroms and frigid nights, with endless whys.
I am not afraid of Death; I lost that fear many years ago. I am outraged today at the texture and randomness of Death’s choices. I lost another friend this week, someone I have known for nearly fifty years. When I learned of his passing, I felt like silk ropes were choking me. My spirit excised from my body to watch another small piece of me fly even as I couldn’t breathe.
It is strange to run through rapid fire the emotions of sadness, pity, loss, and guilt. Yes, guilt. That peculiar sense of why am I still standing while my friends die around me. My friends who lived normal, even pedestrian lives, while I lived anything but that. Why are my friends dying?
There are no answers to these questions. Mourning includes the questions. Each of us approaches Death and life differently. Death has a particular texture, a feel that cannot be easily defined. Each death must be felt in its own time and given its place in our spirit so that we can mourn as we will, not as others expect of us. No one can tell us the ‘right’ way to mourn a friend’s or loved one’s passing, any more than they can tell us the texture of Death as we feel it.
QBG_Tilted Tiara 
Beautifully written. It’s the elephant in the room that no one wants to talk about – the inevitable end. And yet, those ends happen to those in our lives… and we can’t quite describe all the feelings about what’s happening… But the texture, yes, that is describable, as you show well here xx
Thank you, it was all that was left in how I was feeling, that description. The differences between losing a parent to old age and dementia or a friend of 50 years to cancer. There is such a difference in those feelings.
What I worry about is that there are no affordable elder care options available for persons of my income level or that of my two adult children who could offer very very little assistance. I suppose it will be Medicare home hospice palliative care until I evaporate away when my time comes. I’d rather die in my own house than in a facility anyway.
I think Carl, these things are so much a part of our thinking today, it is hard to avoid. There are no easy answers. We live longer, but do we live fuller, richer lives? At what point are more burden? I only know how each loss makes me feel, the small holes I feel.
MAR. 17, DAD WILL HAVE BEEN GONE 2 YEARS. HE LIVED WITH ME AND I TOOK CARE OF HIM FOR 19 YEARS. HE WAS 97. I USUALLY CRY A BIT EVERY DAY. I USUALLY SMILE OR LAUGH A LITTLE BIT EACH DAY TOO. HE WAS MORE THAN MY FATHER. HE WAS MY FRIEND, MY PAL, MY ROOMMATE AND SO VERY GRACEFUL IN HIS DECLINE. AT LEAST HE DIED HOME, WITH ME AND IN HIS OWN BED AND NOT ALONE IN SOME FACILITY. I CHERISH SO MUCH HOW HE OVERLOOKED SO MANY OF MY FAULTS AND WAS ALWAYS IN MY CORNER WHETHER I WAS RIGHT OR WRONG. I AM A PERSON OF FAITH AND ATTEND CHURCH BUT THE HOLE IN MY LIFE REMAINS. UNDERSTANDING COMES WHEN I ACCEPT THERE CAN BE NO RESURRECTION WITHOUT DEATH.
That is the grace we all find Carl. I watched my father’s slow decline with Alzheimer destroying his brilliance. But his choice to follow the love of his life, remained his, I cherish that. This is why I say each death, they have a texture to them. Each loss, it feels different to me. I know it isn’t the end, yet being left to mourn hurts nonetheless.