Had I gotten a chance to talk in the group the other morning, I would have chimed in to talk about death, because, guess what, an alcoholic died.
I talk to dead people a lot. My father and my sister are deceased but quite nearby, I check in with them often, never at any length, just a nod of acknowledgement between us. At work I meet a lot of people, many who will be gone in a few weeks, months. Staff continues to be surprised by that, lots of drama.
A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore treats the subject lightly, I think there is mention of the cosmic force setting someone down for a nap. Not everyone is ready for a nap. Who knows what vortex we enter next.
Probably none of us were ready to be born. Just think of it, utterly secure in our own womb, thinking we know what's what, our lifeblood pumping in through our cord, a roof over our head. Then out we blast into the harsh light and caca-phony of noise and that vacuous stuff called air.
Life is a series of rude interruptions.
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