Death, to all those who witness it’s intrusion, is a discomfort. You can see it in the tapping of the foot, the unconscious bouncing of the leg, the wringing of the hands, the helpless staring at Its victim. No one knows what to do with it, so they just sit, watch, listen to it’s ragged, shallow breaths while holding on tightly to their own.
Death, to all those who experience it’s intrusion, is a once-mystery now revealed.
growing through grief 