Cross-fade

The gentle death of an old man is not like the time-shattering death of a young one. It is no surprise. You have seen it coming from afar. You have seen him fading, fading. Like last night's candle burning, burning.

You have loved one another well, rectified regrets, so death arrives not as that sudden implosion that sucks all the air and love and plans out of life. Because it has been a cross-fade. Perceptible but gentle.

You have had time, and plenty of warning, to fill the space he would leave. You have arranged to cross-fade. An out-tro, an intro. Perceptible but gentle.

You have seen then, that death was his last enemy, his final care, and at last he welcomed it as a friend. You in your heart are grateful that he rests now, where love abides but loss is gone.

You smile. You cry. You'll live right on. You cry. You smile. You're fine.

You're fine. But you must not ask too much of other people.