Christmas is tough enough for people who have lost loved ones; so imagine how awful it must feel when someone passes on Christmas Day. This year I heard of such a death. Not of someone I know, although I recognise his face; I know his name; and thanks to social media I know he married his long-time love six months ago. A fit man in his early 40s, he should not have died, and certainly not of something so mundane as a heart attack - triggered by a blood clot. Clearly fate did not support his team; his family and friends left devastated by an unavoidable tragic incident. Or perhaps, as the outpourings on social media have claimed, heaven truly wanted their angel back.
Whatever the reason, I am in mourning. Not for him, exactly, but for those I have lost in the past. For the beautiful souls I have known and no longer see. Their spirits accompany me, as his will follow the ones grieving now, but I can no longer speak with them or hold them or see them, except in memory.
Death is cruel. But life is crueller for those still living.
