The Sting of Death

I woke up to a cold morning.With a light shawl over my shoulders, I went to the kitchen. As I pushed back my sleeves to pick up a hot cup of coffee, I happened to glance down and caught sight of the slight wrinkles on my forearms. Instantly I was a child of ten years, holding my grandmother's hand as we walked together in the yard. She had identical wrinkles. A warm and nostalgic moment of fond remembrance. Then all of a sudden it hit me - OMG ... I'm her age today! In the Biblical age group of threescore and ten.

Our annual Mass for the Departed yesterday had already put me in a reflective mood. More than 30 names were on the list of members who had departed in the past twelve months - each one different, each one mourned. Then I consoled myself with the usual platitudes: We begin to age the minute we are born. Every day is a step closer to death, the inevitable end to life. That is the way the spirit flies to the Great Unknown, to be reunited with those who have died before us.

Death after a long life, well lived, is *normal* and much easier to accept than yesterday's horrifying news from Paris -  cold-blooded random shootings that cut down so many without warning. Having emptied their Kalashnikovs, the young men also blew themselves up. More death and destruction!

In this short video Antoine Leiris, who lost his wife in the Bataclan killings in Paris, speaks with courage, fortitude and Love.