The certainty of death

The title may elicit shock, but worry not—it is simply a statement of fact. I have witnessed death twice, or 1.5 times to be more precise. I witnessed my mother’s final breath, but not my father’s. I witnessed my father’s remains being slid into a crematory after I kissed his forehead and then proceeded to weep thunderously. My apologies for the graphic description; consider this as part of my mourning process. I cannot fully describe the sadness I felt then and continue to feel now especially when I’m alone in my thoughts. Other times, I think of other things...mundane things, happy things related to my beautiful family, exciting work-related ideas, useless anxieties, the usual idle speculations (which I’m trying to cut down), what to eat, memories triggered by certain songs, etc.  But always I ponder on the end of life. Sometimes my life; most of the time the lives of my parents. My father and mother are gone and that reality throws me off balance at times. So, for anyone with parents who are still alive, cherish their presence.