"

The language of death is rarely spoken, because no one wants to see death, and no one wants to speak of it, either. I watched a man die on his deathbed today, and it was poignant, and hurtful, and beautiful. Death was an ocean wave that ebbs and flows. Little by little, his breaths grew softer, lapping at the shore in waves smaller than the other. His eyes faded like the misty air of early morning dusks—and his skin turned the color of the ocean, mottled and blue. And then slowly, the ocean stilled. And he was gone.

Speak of death in tongues of dignity and humility, of gratitude and celebration.

There was a  life lived here.

And this is their grandest curtain call.

"