talk about what means the most
June 10, 2010
My grandma died last Friday, on my birthday, 3 weeks after the cancer diagnosis. I was told the window in her room was open, a perfect June breeze gently blowing on her as her breathing eventually stopped. I was told my grandpa, when informed of her last breath, cried, and cried, and cried.
All afternoon, all evening, I marveled at the expanse of the summer sky. I have never seen it so wide, so open…it looked like it had just been created and separated from the earth. A newborn sky.
We are rich: we have nothing to lose.
We are old: we have nowhere to rush.
We shall fluff the pillows of the past,
poke the embers of the days to come,
talk about what means the most
as the indolent daylight fades;
we shall lay to rest our undying dead:
I shall bury you, you will bury me.
—Vera Pavlova
