when will it be
when will it come
when will the darkness of this soul cease
when will it rain
when will clouds disperse
when will be release

when will faith shine
when will comfort rise
when will the strongholds of negativity fade
when will it feel right
when will this end
when will peace be made

Sometimes I hate my job...

We all live in our own private hells. 

As I spoke to a gentleman this evening I was left pondering over the following questions: Can parents ever get over the loss of their child needlessly - to a road accident? Dreams, hopes, all crushed?

And what is worse? 

That someone from a newspaper calls you to talk about your decision to donate your child's organs and she may also need a photo? 

Or that she may be so sickened by the thought of even asking those questions and noting their answers down in a note pad that she may want this story reassigned to someone else? 

How is this reporter going to talk to the mother of that 18 year old tomorrow? 

Sometimes I hate my job. And I live in my own private hell knowing that I have stoked wounds that are still fresh.

When Life ends...

And this is how it ends. 

A body we take pains to keep fit, beautiful. A body that we take pride in as we adorn it with the best money can buy - clothes, shoes, jewellery...

A body that helps us achieve happiness - experience the joys of love making, of intimacy and physical proximity; that helps us give birth to our babies;  that helps us become who we are as we travel to work, to achieve our goals, pursue our passions, rise above our own expectations; helps us climb mountains, surf the waves, dive deep underwater, fly high on the wings of a glider....

A body that we think is ours - our genes playing a role in what we look like, how we smile, how we frown, how we laugh; that makes us different from our siblings and yet alike in so many idiosyncratic  ways; that either makes our children from 'my side' or 'his side'....

A body that we protect, preserve, use or abuse...

A body that transcends its physical form and makes us a person - with a name, an identity and a form...

And when life ends, the same body becomes what it is meant to be - a 'body'...

Hospitals refer to you as 'the body' because you cease to be their patient. Your loved ones who are awaiting the arrival of your physical remains also refer to you as 'the body' because suddenly you're not a living being with a name, you're the recently deceased, the 'body'...

Not only are you that lifeless mortal remains of a once thriving human being, your remains are also tied up to a stretcher/bed with ropes, tightening your frame against this metallic structure without a care for your comfort, because you're no longer you...you're just a 'body'...

So much for the illusion of owning our bodies; once life ends, we are just a lifeless rag doll waiting to be picked up and taken for that final journey....