Leaving arms that have held them, even but briefly, they enter a line. Names marked off next. Paying the ferryman to cross mythical rivers. Thrust again into life, someone new with vague memories of being someone old. We have searched, theorised, wondered and wished. How can we know if we cannot even look across the divide?
Not just death. Life. It tears us, too. I nod and I mmm as the life and the pain tumbles onto the table. I can't fix it or change it. Just listen and hear. Make recommendations for 'treatment' but that's band-aid stuff. The stories I'm told, replay in my head as I stare out the bus window. Walk ... Bus ... Train ... Walk. Home to the reach of size one arms - Pick me up.
Bad news is momentous, world-stopping, but the fractured beams of hope, of blessing can trick. Almost overlooked.