Z,
I
always imagine that death is much like being born. We will be unaware. It will
come upon us like a word we hear in an echo, then a final cry and then the end of
the things before but not the things ahead of us. I have always had this idea
of how I would go. You would find me in bed, sleeping away the afternoon and then just away.
Your mother hates it when I say this. This is the best-case scenario. But that
is enough of the morbid: how are you?
I
have always had a dissatisfaction with living on earth. I hope I have not
passed this on to you and your siblings. I want to be honest but not
burdensome. I have also had furious joy in things, in being in love, in having
children, in fighting for the things that I believe in, in having great
friends, in tea and in writing as an end in itself. At the finish line, I hope
I feel this way. I hope I see your own joy in your eyes. I hope you can share
it with me. I have a lot of weight to put down. I have a lot of things that I
cannot carry to the finish. Yet, I am not impatient. Step by step, day by day,
the faith over the fear, the love over the law of things and the life with you
and our family over the transient pleasures of being anywhere else.