The real meaning of terminal
I’ve been involved with this blogging thing for a lot of days. Closing on three thousand. And I’ve become a bit complacent. I have to dig for content, and my personal involvement is minimal. My tribe is stable.
Today, a change. For the first time since I started posting, a member of my extended family has passed away. Not unexpectedly; terminal illness is just that. No matter. The shock is still there. I have to say goodbye to someone that I didn’t know “well”, despite a long term involvement. Geography. Age difference. A certain language barrier that none admit but all acknowledge. After today, there won’t be another opportunity for conversation. No more exchange of experience. I’m saddened. My world is smaller, and my own mortality is a greater force than before.
The next few days will be filled with new experiences. For all in the house. We’ll have some travel, some moments with others that can’t be scheduled. Possibly some confrontation; inevitable when emotions run on a taut line.
At the same time, others in the family will have to deal with their own sense of loss. I may need a bridge over troubled waters.
The news sites are asking a different, difficult question. Why can’t the railways disclose what they are transporting, in long mixed trains. Through our towns, in a nod to history. The arguments that safety is involved ring false, when the request for information have come from those most interested in safety; public safety, that is. I find it very hard to believe that the rail companies have no idea what is carried in their consists.
