As I was thinking about the death of friend recently, another friend showed me this.
Death is outside life but it alters it: it leaves a hole in the fabric of things which those who are left behind try to repair. Perhaps it is because of this we are minded to feast at funerals and it is said that certain children are conceived on the eve of a departure, lest the separation of the partners be permanent. When in ancient stories heroes die, the first thing their comrades do, having made due observances to the gods, is sit and eat. Then they travel on, challenging, with their frail vitality, the large enigma of non-being.
— the first paragraph of Miss Garnet’s angel, by Sally Vickers. London: Fourth Estate, 2000)
… which reminded me of this
And I see losing love
Is like a window in your heart
Everybody sees you’re blown apart
Everybody sees the wind blow
… And I may be obliged to defend
Every love, every ending
Or maybe there’s no obligations now
Maybe I’ve a reason to believe
We all will be received
– from the lyrics of the title song of Paul Simon’s Graceland