I was writing a blog post entitled 'The Drama of the Individual', all about the wonder of human life and the mysteries of personality, and I was really getting into it, when I heard the news that someone I know-- a man not much older than me-- has a year to live.
Reader, before moving on, please say a short prayer for him, even a moment's thought turned to Heaven.
The obscenity of death is overwhelming. Christ's tears for Lazarus and his bloody sweat before his own Passion seem far more seemly to me than all the 'I have only slipped away to the next room' sentimentality. The final lines of Philip Larkin's almost unbearably brutal poem 'The Mower' also come to me:
We should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
May all the saints in Heaven, our blessed Lady, and our precious Lord comfort and guide him and his family.