Gray Skies and Pouring Rain

I've been thinking a lot, since it happened. I haven't cried much, since it happened.

People find it strange. I suffer their looks.
Surprise. Awe. Fear. Worry. Contempt.
I am not stone.

It isn't that I don't feel anything. It is that I don't feel grief.
Okay, so maybe that doesn't help my cause.

Can I help it that I do not grieve over death?
It is what it is. A finality. A certainty. I've known that for a long time. I've accepted it for its inevitability and my abject inability to do anything about it. It is a point you don't argue. A point we all get to. It is objective in its choice of victim, manner, and schedule. It must. It is.

I don't grieve for death. It is just an object. I grieve for life.

I grieve over wasted time, effort, love, opportunity, gifts, and good. I grieve over wrong decisions, stupidity, lies, and meanness. I grieve over crippling fears and senselessness. I grieve for the loss of life, not death.

I do not cry over death.