Dying
I wish people living forever didn't mean they have to die first. I wish it didn't mean saying good bye.
I live in a perpetual state of denying mortality. Not denying in the defeating sort of way. Denying in the ignorant sort of way, a subconscious choice to disbelieve inevitability. Perhaps I don't like to believe anything is inevitable, or will happen outside of my control. It's just that when someone dies it's as if a block has been removed from the house that is my life.
I have such a difficult time understanding the transition of existence to non-existence. That one day, the ones we love just won't be there. That the next time I walk in late to my parents' church I won't be greeted by the dry wit of an old friend. That my Nannie will never meet my wife.
How many others can I name?
This is a sad life, to be sure. A hard life, to be sure. A life desperate for redemption, hope, and eternity. Though I will always regret the passing of one I love, no matter how sweet their destination. Always.
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