Grief

We don't often think about death. Not really. We don't realise the finality, the shock, the decision that death takes for us without ever asking if we're ready. We take death for granted for the whole of our lives, constantly blocking out the ticking of the clock that counts down the days, hours, minutes until we draw our last breath. We forget to enjoy the little things in life - take for granted the moments we share with those we love until we're forced to replay the same ones over in our heads when they've gone. Our friends, our family, our friends who become like family get tangled in the stream of our lives and we hope that they don't get stripped away just when we've made them such a big part of it.

And we hope death doesn't stand beside us for years, decades even - wondering when our number'll come up and it's our time to leave. We get a glimpse of death every so often, showing its face around doorways, holding someone else's hand and calling someone else's name. But the guilt we feel when death sidesteps us and picks our cherished ones, is palpable. We sit in the pews of a church and pray death is kind to them and leaves us alone.

I don't envy death. I imagine that it's difficult to have to choose which souls to take first, who to avoid and who to lead away. Death probably hopes that we cherish the time we have, and that we live our lives to the fullest until it's our time. I don't think death has a choice in the matter, not really.