It’s tough being dead—until you get used to it—though it’s a damned sight better than what goes before with the mess and the blood and the battle for every breath. Not to mention my sobbing sisters, wailing away—at least Mary—she’s never been one to hide her feelings. Martha’s different—she knows the strength in sparing words and getting on with it. Both beautiful in their own ways. Hard to leave them!
But strange, in those last moments, even with them there—and God knows how many else—I was lonely. In the end there’s just you as you drift alone into the dark. Strange too how the pain leaves you near the end—though it doesn’t make the going any easier—you can be weary as hell—and ready—but giving up the ghost is a struggle. To live! —right up to the end I wanted to live—to breathe one more breath—to cherish one more heartbeat.
Add comment March 24th, 1996