Death. And Life.

The balloons lifted into the sky, and as they floated higher and higher: I met my humanity.

We were in the final year of high school, and we’d just lost a friend to a sudden and unexpected brain aneurysm. The balloons were meant to help us say goodbye.

That’s my first ever memory of sweeping a confusing feeling under the carpet. I was devastated for the loss of our friend, of course, but even more of a problem was this other feeling that kept trying to be felt. Fear.

His death was sudden. He died without warning, with no chance to save him.

So why was I afraid?

If he could die, just like that…so could I.

So could my Mum.

So could any of us who stood there, outside that church, arms stretched toward the sky as our balloons sailed away. I couldn’t be letting myself feel a horror like that.

The fear, and the complexity of thought that came with our friend’s death, bumbled through my brain with absolutely no idea where it was going. I couldn’t guide it. I don’t think any one around me knew I was struggling with it.

I even felt guilty for not feeling sad enough.

And life went on.

In this moment, I feel the ache of death (and its potential) like a beautiful hum of sorrow in my body. Beautiful, because it is a sacred sorrow that points directly to the love I feel for life, and the people who mean the world to me.

I welcome it, now, that fear. I hold myself in its vastness and I know it only ever had one job.

To help me cherish life, and fully live.

That, I can do.