After that I could never pass a dead man without stopping to gaze on his face, stripped by death of that earthly patina which masks the living soul. And I would ask, who were you? Where was your home? Who is mourning for you now?
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
During my days of deepest grief, in all of my shock, sorrow and struggle, I sat at the feet of God. I literally spent hours each day reading God's word, meditating on scripture and praying. I intentionally spent a significant amount of time being still before God.
I get inhabited by a character and then you mourn it. There's a period of mourning for me, definitely.
Today we bury his remains in the earth as a seed of immortality. Our hearts are full of sadness, yet at the same time of joyful hope and profound gratitude.
Where I grew up, in a remote village at the back of a valley, the old still thought the dead needed attending to - a notion so universal, it's enscribed in all religions. If you didn't, they might exact revenge upon the living.
I pressed my father's hand and told him I would protect his grave with my life. My father smiled and passed away to the spirit land.
That death was near, I suppose I believed, but I saw it only as a rest after the day's work.
Even with my father and brother dying, I didn't quite process the grief.
I lived for nearly seven years with the awareness that death was my everyday companion.
I don't mourn the dead. I mourn the living.
Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning; for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men.