Everyone is dying and it’s not stopping 


I’m at a friend’s father’s memorial service. Tomorrow I’m going to my grandpa’s brother’s funeral. It’s a lot of funerals. 

It’s been a long day. It’s freezing and I’m cold. I’m starving, the pangs keep getting worse. But so what? People are dying and it’s not stopping. 

There are kids at this memorial, kids with a conscious and those without. I look at them and they don’t look any different from anyone around me. It’s the spring in their step puts a smile on my face.

There’s a man talking. I listen sometimes. He seems passionate. He’s sharing anecdotes. Tales of the past. Shared memories. It’s all he has because that’s all that’s left.

I don’t like funerals. I’ve been to many, and I don’t like them. No one really knows how to be. Everyone wears the same face. The face of loss. It’s bare. It’s solemn and every one is dying and it’s not stopping.