Lately, we’ve been thinking a lot about old age and dying. Part of that is because we were recently visiting my parents and my mother, a palliative care nurse, has a lot to say about what the end of life looks like. It’s not pretty. There’s a lot of regret, a lot of brokenness, a lot of sin.
During the visit, I went to the park with an old family friend. “You know,” she said, looking at the fall colours, “I think that we’re like trees. We have these covers, these screens that we put up for people to see, and they can be spectacular. But then, at the end, it all drops away, and what we really are is left in the open. Just like the trunks and branches of these trees.”