February opened its doors with loss. At the beginning of the month, our friend and neighbor, passed away after a long fight with cancer. He was a kind man who loved fishing and gardening, and who became one of the first people in Germany to make me feel like less of an outsider. As we entered his room in the hospice center, he was just departing, taking his last breaths and starting his journey to wherever he might be headed next.

It is an odd thing, to watch the final moments of a person’s life, and the first moments of a world without them in it. This wasn’t my first time experiencing a departure, but it did strike me how odd it was that the tears didn’t fall until the nurses came to confirm what we already knew. There was a sort of holding of breath, a disbelief that was fragile as a nod and the rearranging of hands from clenched fists to open palms. In the following hours we became a buoy for this family, as they began to navigate the emptiness that opened in the room and in their lives. Even in the sadness, it was a sort of gift to be allowed into those most aching and intimate moments.

The longer I live and the closer I find myself coming towards death, the more I feel a pull to bring it deeper into the workings of my life. I still, like everyone, fear the death of a loved one, perhaps more than anything else in the world. But I know that fear won’t protect me from something that is inevitable. And like many, any time death visits someone we know, the world takes on a slightly different hue for a short time. The questions come– what am I doing with my life? How can it all be so short? How can we go on knowing how much we don’t know about when and how and what comes next?

Perhaps as a subconscious response, this month became a time in which many of the things I longed to do over the course of this year became suddenly so clear and obtainable. I started a new job that I found aligned so much better with my goals and personality. I renewed my library card and began going to the library again weekly. My partner and I attended a karaoke night, where I bombed but still had the opportunity to breathe and sing. My partner and I also went to a huge flea market, which I have missed doing for years. I spent time with a new friend. I began taking myself out on solo cafe dates, where I took the time to enjoy a sweet treat and give myself time to create. I cooked new recipes and painted new paintings and celebrated the bloom of spring flowers. How lucky am I, to live through the suffering and still see the other side?

Love, Ariel