Parting

I saw my cousin and his wife at the mall today. He had brought her out to give her a change of scenery from home and a relatively undemanding walk down the mall for exercise, with a glass of orange juice to revive her. She is terminally ill with cancer and, in her words, bearing up.

They asked questions about the family - have they all gone back to Europe and the UK after the holidays - the usual family chit chat.

Why is it that, when someone you know is reaching the end of this earthly life, we tend to avoid them? Is it because we don't know what to say, or we feel guilty for still being healthy and not yet in sight of our own departure? It seemed that everything I said related to leaving, separation, departure, going away, missing someone, a new life elsewhere, and the whole time all I could think of was whether either of them noticed and how trivial it seemed compared to what they are going through. I wanted to reverse each sentence as it came out and swallow it as though it had never been said. In the end I just gave her a hug and held her hand.
Words are, after all, the least effective means of communication when taken unawares - we need time to gather our thoughts - and so perhaps physical contact is the answer.

Despite her illness, her hair and makeup are immaculate as they have been all her life, and you won't hear her complain except of being tired. I can only hope we are all so dignified when the time comes.