Tears have been falling from the sky every day since I returned from the great trip, while she lay dying in the next room. When it was done, the sun came out – you can’t tell me that’s coincidence. We warmed our bones in the backyard for just a snippet of time.
Yesterday, from the director’s chair next to her bed, I could see the bare tendrils of the frangipani swaying in the wind. Her bones barely moved as the wind whistled past the fluid at the back of her throat – periodically.
I had an irrational want to rush around the garden, and chop everything down. How does life go on outside as though life isn’t ending inside? Environmental destruction wouldn’t halt the process…anyway, the rain is pelting down again…nature’s unrelenting sobbing echoes grief.