Over the last two years it seems a lot of people I knew have been 'taken before their time'- that is, in their fifties as opposed to even their sixties. Partly, this is to do with Coronavirus, but partly also due to other causes. This is profoundly sad, because every human being contributes to the colours of the gigantic painting of humanity. But we can't all love one another, because we are too different from each other, and some people's burdens make them difficult to get along with. And what's the point of psychopaths? That's one thing I'll never understand. Tolerance takes a lot of work, but we have to learn how to do it because hatred is so destructive and fills people with unhappiness.
Yes, bereavement makes you brake suddenly: time stops for a moment and you take stock of yourself, your friendships and your family. The bag is shaken up, new alliances form, and old ones fall away. Shaky relationships collapse because truth hurts. Dishonesty is outed and surprising kindness emerges from the shadows. Layers of artifice crumble away, or armour is reinforced.
Your smallness in the greater scheme of things becomes overwhelming, and the perspective alters each time. You can't tell people you love them all the time, because love has too many shades and complications. At the funeral you see people whose past is intertwined with yours forever, but you probably will never see them again, because the last link has snapped with the death of the person who held you in that chain of friendship.
Breathe in, breathe out....
It's Monday and the world has turned again bringing a new landscape of questions; it's probably time I got my guitar out to interrupt these dark thoughts.