pressed petals
talk about death
I opened my journal tonight to write about death and I was greeted with dried rose petals.
one's I had pressed in a feeble attempt to preserve life and it's beauty
those petals are now more fragile than they ever were when filled with life
I'm lucky because I've never had to grieve the physical loss of someone dear to me. I may have lost people but the ones I talk about are still alive and knowing that they still breathe brings me comfort even if that is all I know about them.
when I was in middle school both my great grandparents (the only two I ever met) passed away. while I may have registered their deaths (in the best way a 11-13 yr old could), I didn't really know them and they didn't really know me and so I was able detached their deaths from being a part of my story in a way.
so all that being said, I used to never spend time pondering how fast someone can really be taken from our lives.
until a little over 5 years ago, when my little brother was born. I became more aware of the close connection between life and death because I was and still am terrified of every little thing that might even have the chance of taking him from me.
now, when I look at my parents I take note of their aches and pains too. The shakiness of my father's hands when he's passing me something or every time he mentions his high blood pressure. the exhaustion in my mother's sighs and how much slower she seems to move from time to time.
I wonder how much time we have together.
I think of them as fragile as the petals I pressed in this book. my parents may not be old, but I can't stop to wonder when it'll happen and how.
no matter how much we try to preserve someone or something, they'll be gone.
whether it's before us or after us,
it'll happen
and the more we try to hold on the more fragile we become but oh what a privilege it is to be
every reminder of morality and the fragility of everything around me shakes me to my core
slightly edited journal entry