Day 221: Goodbye Muriel

Today my friend rings to tell me that his mother died this morning.  He sat with her and held her hand through afternoon, evening and night as she slowly faded.  She was ill and she'd had enough.  Although he wanted to be there, he admitted that there were times in the long vigil when it all became too intense.

I remember this at my father's deathbed.  At times the presence of the person that you love becomes secondary to the presence of death, and there's a pressing need for you to flee - to get as far away as possible from this terrible, final thing.  I did not fear his corpse, although I thought I might.  I found it peaceful, and natural.  But I found the process of his death terrifying.  As he struggled, I kept expecting him to sit bolt upright, open his eyes, and say awful things.    And it wouldn't have been my father speaking - it would have been something else inhabiting the shell of his body.  Oddly, my brother had exactly the same thoughts.  My mother said that you could 'see the ancestors in his face'.  I know what she meant.  His face was no longer his - it seemed different.  Ancient and timeless.  I think it looked as all faces do when the soul is leaving the body.  Reverting to factory settings.

Any brush with death stops you in your tracks, and reminds you of exactly what matters, and what doesn't.  And why you should keep on breathing.      

RIP Muriel.