CONFESSIONS OF A BROKEN HEART
It is now two years since Ruth’s death…and as you read this many more years are passing; which takes me to what my old teacher, Ross Johnston, said:
“…we need to be able to talk about death, we don’t, we don’t want to, but it is part of living. Living and dying is the same thing really. And somehow or rather in our education system, from cradle to grave, we got to be able to insinuate this into what people are hearing, whether it is on television, whether it is digital, or whatever. I don’t know how to do it. But I can see how vital it is, and a person who knows that they are going to die, it is not to be afraid of. There are ways and means. I talk about death a lot because I’m so close to it. I have no hesitation. I call it death, not passing. I am not passing, I’m dying. Monty Python says, ‘Dead! Dead! Dead!’ like the dead parrot.”
Time passes but death does not.
For those of us who walk in its long shadow, as the time flies by, what is left is only to confess to a broken heart.
A Place Where We Were, and I Am Now
Something in the Nothingness
The Sunset of Being Alive
Life Locally on the Morning of High Winds Elsewhere in Country
Silent Embrace inside the Music, and the Equally Present and the Loss of Presence
Grief and Death
Death in Ruth: A Poem
Stuck Between Life and Death
The Carnival of Love