Similar to Emily Dickinson, I have become a good friend with death. I find them to be lovely company and generally a kind soul. Some days death has a temper, and comes down with an iron fist. But other days they are a sooth presence; a peaceful spectator.
I could not really tell you how I became a friend of death. In a way I always have been. Ever since I was young, and having tea parties with my Great Grandmother, whom had passed long before I was born. I was fascinated with death, when I felt the looming sense of another side, and couldn't really believe that everything ended when we die.
And death came and often took my small hand, and showed me things I could never understand. Even in my older years, I still do not always understand everything there is to know. Perhaps that day can only come when I too pass on to the next one.
Some people say that to have a love of death, is to be a strange on in the head. But I say to have a love of death is no different then the love for the end of a novel. For even if the story ends, some where off in a different world. Those people and places continue on. Even if their existence is all in memory.
So I find myself to no longer be so scared and bleak on the matter. And instead have grown to love and accept my dear friend death. And all they must do and have done.