I’ve been thinking a lot about life and death this week.  A very dear friend of mine is saying good-bye to her mother after a devastating stroke.  The pain in my friend’s face as she is hugging her non-responsive mother for what may be the last time is exquisitely beautiful in a raw and primitive way.  Anyway who reads my books knows that I write about death a lot.  Wait For Me focused on reincarnation, Because of Dylan explored the death of an old friend, Lost and Found in Laurel Ridge zeroed in on the guilt and eventual acceptance of the death of a loved one.  I’ve always found death and the way we deal with it a compelling topic.  I suppose working around it for so many years has made me somewhat pragmatic, understanding that it is inevitable; it’s also incredibly unifying.  We all will die despite our economic standing, how many books we’ve sold, or the credentials behind our names.  Most of my patients who have been facing death are quite accepting towards the end.  Whether it is because they are tired of being in pain or looking forward to the possibility of seeing those who have gone on before them, I’m not sure.  I just know that the majority of my patients have expressed to me that they are ready to see what waits for them beyond this world.  Where the difference comes is in the way those left behind handle the loss.  Each time one of my friends loses a parent (I’m unfortunately at that age now) or even worse, a spouse or child, I’m riveted by their responses.  It’s so unique and beautiful and awful….why are some people made stronger while others never recover?  Why are some people angry while others are accepting?  Why do some people want to talk about it while others are supremely uncomfortable with the topic?  I don’t know the answer to any of my questions.  I have no jewels of wisdom to pass along.  Maybe that’s why I write so much about death.  I doubt that I’ll ever figure it all out but there is comfort in the exploration.