What we leave behind...

When a writer dies they become books, photographers continue on through their photos and artists, their artwork. But what of the rest of us? Those of us who have no books to their names or gallery displays. What is it we leave behind?

As everything has a beginning, so too must everything have an end; life is no exception. It is gift, so often taken for granted until the death of someone remands us of it's fragility and value.

This week; a boy I know committed suicide (one of my VFS kids). I don't know how to describe the emptiness that settled in the pit of my stomach on hearing the news or the internal battle as my brain struggles to comprehend the reality; he's gone.

My heart breaks for a life lost; for unfulfilled potential, for loss of his caring spirit, his mind, his talent, his passion and for for memories of a time gone by.

What went through his mind in those last moments I may never know. Could I have done something? Said something? We weren’t each other’s closest friends. But he touched me, during his short life. Maybe I touched him, too. I’ll never know. All I know is what he's left behind.

“Someone once told me that time was a predator that stalked us all our lives. I rather believe that time is a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we've lived.” Picard, Star Trek