The last enemy to be destroyed is death by Philippa Linton
Little drops of hope in a vase ... image from Pixabay I have lost several precious people over the last few years. What a strange expression that is. ‘I have lost someone …’ as if you’ve mislaid them somehow. Even now I can find it hard to say that someone I loved has died. It sounds so stark and blunt. I never thought, before I was hit by the juggernaut of bereavement, that I would be coy about the language of death. And yet I still can be. My birth mother, with whom I was reunited in 1997, died in August 2010. I am so grateful for the years I had knowing her, and sad that we didn't have longer. My housemate of 22 years died of cancer in April 2012. I sat vigil by her bedside, with her family and friends, and saw her the day before she died. My beloved adoptive father, who was my father in every sense of the word, died in January 2014 after four agonising years of vascular demen...