on the liberties of a short life

as deaths tend to do, my Dad's death has called to my attention the ultimate shortness of life.

now many things that once seemed to matter don't seem as important.

this loss has drawn me into definition. if something so clumsy and so ugly as death can do that, why do we continuously seek beauty of some padded, unscathed form? that is empty. exhaustible.

I'm finding it easier to be OK with the things that once threatened me. my physical oddities, for instance. my perpetual longing to be a smaller, more petite woman is more easily discarded lately. what an arbitrary, irrelevant wish. we all have bodies--we are all biological beings, and remain inescapably subject to this fact. sometimes people are small. sometimes people are tall and rangy. sometimes blood vessels burst in their brains and they are snatched away abruptly while their dearly loved ones stand nearby helpless. which among these is more significant and startling?

it's a matter of scale, really. life has deeper depths than I ever thought and they make themselves known to me, simultaneously causing all of those other presumptuous facets to pale and wither in comparison. they flake off like old scabs we brush off once better skin has emerged.

these are thoughts I may develop more another time; this might be amended with an edit.