It's surreal to open Facebook and see a post saying farewell to a teacher from the kids' primary school. A photo full of life and laughter, but a life no longer here. We bumped shoulders in the corridors, shared smiles in passing, I heard the sound of her voice in every school play which she courageously directed, cancer notwithstanding.
As I stood in the circle of my husband's arms this morning, heart sore and eyes watery, the suddenness of "no more" felt like a wave breaking over me.
And while I mourn for Debbie's bright light transferred to heaven's lampstands, and feel her loss keenly in my heart as I know all who met her and loved her must feel, there is a part of me that weeps for the coming loss of days for our own family when we will not be able to have just one more cup of tea, another walk on a beach, grab a hug. We won't walk holding hands, or share an old story with fresh eyes and ringing laughter. Our memories will be all that we are left holding, and we won't make more together because of the distance that separates us.
And as much as I rail and wish and plead, I cannot change that. I will respect my parents' choice.
But oh, my heart longs. We have today. I want to dance and share and walk hand in hand on that thin white line that links birth and death while we can.
And as much as I rail and wish and plead, I cannot change that. I must respect my parents' choice.
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