Everybody Gets a Turn

Death comes for all of us eventually

Some seasons lend themselves to discussions of death more readily than August. Autumn, for example, with all its flavors of dormancy and decay. But here we are in the height of summer heat — blistering blue skies all around this northern hemisphere — and death is everywhere I look.

In the last few months, seven friends have lost their fathers. One of those fathers belonged to my husband. He got the word while on a work trip to California in June. His father was 88 and had Parkinson’s disease, so the news of his passing wasn’t unexpected. All the same, it was a devastating blow.

We all know someday our end will come. Someday someone we love will cease to exist. Many someones, perhaps. None of us will escape it, neither the end nor the sorrow. We know this all our lives.

And yet, when death comes, are we ever truly ready?

I am in England at the moment.

Two weeks ago, my best friend’s husband fell over dead. He was 55 years old. His death was shocking in all the worst ways.

So I am here now, with my friend, doing laundry and vacuuming random corners and making spaghetti bolognese. (I’m not a good cook but it’s hard to fuck up pasta.) We’ve talked and laughed and cried and sat for hours in easy…