As the river that is a life – a library of tales, fables, myths, legends, poems and narratives of every description – approaches the ocean, the community gathers on the banks to take one last look before this water returns to The Water.
Here’s where the water metaphor begins to break down (as all metaphors must do), because each person on the bank is also a river – just farther upstream. Acknowledging that the metaphor is crumbling, let’s take it as far as it will let us.
As we stand on the banks, watching the final moments of this particular river, it recalls in us the stories we have in common, the places where the narratives crossed. The more we have had in common with this person, the more our stories are wrapped up in theirs and theirs in ours. This is grief: that the common story is ending. For better or worse. Whether all the subplots are wrapped up, or not. Resolution or no resolution.
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