It started about a year and a half ago, when one of my dearest friends died of a sudden heart attack. At his memorial gathering, we sang this hymn, one of his favorites. It is also one of my favorite songs, and so now I will always, and forever, think of him when I hear it.
Then, a year ago last week, the Old Woman died. The end of her life was anticipated, and for her something of a release from a condition she would have, if in her right mind, viewed as something worse than dying. She wasn't much into music, but as her illness progressed, this song would turn me into a sobbing, weeping mess.
And, as if I weren't enough of a mess last week, the anniversary of the Old Woman's death was followed with the one month mark since my beloved friend's suicide. Pretty much, last week, I was a mess. Hell, I'm still a mess. My friend introduced me to lots of music, specifically, the Pogues. This is the song I, and his brother, thought of as an appropriate send off for him.
Last night, I talked with a college friend. Her mother is dying. She's scared. She doesn't think she can do "this" (life) without her mother. I hate that there is nothing I can do that will truly lessen the hurt she's facing.