It was a sunny Friday afternoon. Spring outside. Birds. Laughter. Life.
Inside, a woman with an eye patch and half her hair gone, was sitting in a chair and the tears were rolling down her cheeks. Even from her unseeing eye.
It was infinitely sad. Not because she was dying. Life was all around, and life was, oh, so loud. But the woman was sitting in her chair, disoriented and resigned.
And when she does die, life will go on uninterrupted. Birds will sing and wind will blow.
Because that’s the way it is.