Dying is not graceful. It is noisy, messy and embarrassing. Life isn’t ready to give up yet, it holds on with a vice like grip. Life doesn’t want to let you go. Yet.
The art of dying is abstract; a messy Picasso. In amongst the mess, the lines and paint there is a story that is being told. A story that is ending, and one about to begin with you featuring only as a memory.
There is no graceful or elegant way to die. In those last moments before death everyone is the same; it doesn’t matter what you have done or what you might have done. Only this: you are loved by all and now you die. You are loved by all.
Death in it’s self is beautiful and welcome. Death is peaceful.
One day you were with us and then, in the space of a weekend you are not.
From my Sociologist point of view I have been analysing and reviewing this dying and this death. There is no set way to die, there is no set way to grieve. Over the next days, weeks, months and years we will support each other and we will love each other. If death teaches us just one thing, it is the importance to love when we are alive.