There are too many people, it seems, that come to the end of their allotted time without reflection. Those that pause for a moment rarely record their thoughts. I will not be one of those people. For better or almost certainly worse, I am going to have a stab at a memoir. It will be mostly accurate, certainly incomplete. If you are anticipating salacious stories and startling revelations, I can recommend alternative reads. The audience will, I imagine, be rather limited. But that is a long way from the point and we will come back to that. As I have previously observed I do appear to have plenty of time.
As we get older, we start to experience loss very differently. Not so long ago the loss of a relative, friend, loved one was certainly to be regretted. One mourned a little and moved on. Funerals were rare events and attendance was appropriate. When I lost my father, I wasn’t at all prepared and much of that time remains a blur. These days I seem to grieve a little more, hurt a little more, cast an eye toward the diminishing horizon of my own mortality. You get the idea. I am more selective which funerals I attend and I seem to have developed a subconscious scorecard that dictates which ones. Callous? Maybe.
Time is precious and while the demise of ancient, distant relatives is regrettable it is far from unexpected. It makes little sense to attend these events without proper consideration. Friends taken too early must also come under scrutiny. Would they want me to interrupt my busy schedule to stand around wringing hands and sipping insipid tea? I suspect not.
Sheppy'S World 