You know when you are a young teenager, and your mom is gathering up stuff to give away, sell at a garage sale, or donate. And it's one of your old toys from childhood that you really enjoyed. You protest and say "don't sell that." "Well are you still going to play with it?" "No." "Are you going to keep it and be responsible for it with your stuff." "No." "Then it's going."
It's not that you care about the physical loss. You in fact had completely forgotten about it, and only remembered it because you saw it in the pile of stuff to be thrown out. No it's not the loss, it's the idea of loss in general. Of how temporary things are in this mortal sphere.
An author I used to like had a character who would perseverate on the fact that he could no longer distinctly bring to mind the exact face of a deceased woman he had loved some 20 years prior. That you could be that close, yet still not be able to hold on, as the years go by.
A buddy of mine emailed me last night to tell me that he has pancreatic cancer. Things change, things end. We all have a part, and we all live (and die) with our choices.
I assure you there is nothing vindictive about this. It's just marking the obvious, and the proper course. The door was open. And then the door shut.
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