Rebekah Mambiar Jun 1, 2019 in Writing Death I stand in silent anticipation as an old friend drives up my door. He has come for yet another visit-- I swear he drops by more often than before. He has never yet arrived quite unannounced, but he'd always give a very short notice. Yet perhaps no heads up is advance enough for someone's visit such as his. There are always more things to be done, more preparations to look after; And every time that he leaves, there are countless details I wish I did better. So with every goodbye he utters every time he steps out of my place, I would make amends on my planner so as to receive him next time with more grace. It's been eight months since Death first knocked at my door, since I first...