It seemed like a great chance for closure. It would be a final, wonderful send off, a chance to mourn but be grateful for the gift we had in the first place. It seemed that it would be a full stop.
And it was. But no one mentioned that the full stop would be the end of a sentence and not the story.
During the days that followed the finale, the sadness seemed to sink even deeper. Perhaps it was the stark reality of being in the room overwhelmed by the collective grief, yet leaning on each other for support. Perhaps it was the virtual friendships made – relationships forged in the intimate remoteness of the internet made tangible by the tactile bond of tearful embraces.
Whatever it was, everything got harder.
Sleep was intermittent, disturbed by dreams of normality, of a friend who would still be at the of the phone or have an updated Facebook status first thing in the morning. Waking hours were spent flitting between periods of intense concentration on the work that must be done, the life that must be lived, and the emptiness that creeps back into the mind.
The story continued far beyond the day we said goodbye, and I’ve no doubt it will continue far into the future. Many lives were eternally altered with the passing of a friend, but we cling to the positive change that entered our lives at her side.
Clichés abound when death visits our cosy lives and none does justice to the true feelings: to their intensity and to the constant, desperate wishing for more time, more smiles, more life.
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