After nearly 2.5 months I spent the entire day home today.

Picking up The Sunday Times every Sunday morning was a ritual that had become part of the past for quite a while now. So, today, I decided to pick it up. I read skimmed through almost every other article but read and re-read just this one article unable to digest what I had just read.

It was about this lady who within a split second lost the two people her life revolved around. Her husband who suffered from some health problems decided to jump along with their autistic son so that she doesn’t have to suffer raising him alone.

I still remain unable to digest, let alone accept this. The only thought that formulates within me, as I try to even remotely put myself in her shoes, are along the lines of how grateful I am for everyone that surrounds me.

I’m ending my day curling up with “When Breath Becomes Air” by Paul Kalanithi. A reflection on the challenge of facing death and on the relationship between doctor and patient, from a brilliant writer who became both.

Probably not the best way to spend a Sunday but the dying are the ones who have the most to teach us about life.


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