2 November 2012
The last breath. They used to call it the Death Rattle. The technical term for it is agonal gasps but to you and me it's the sound of a body and soul going their separate ways. If you are ever unfortunate enough to hear it you will remember it. A life ending. A lifetime of work and play, highs and lows snuffed out. That old person that used to be a young person just like you or me. They used to be someone. Then they got old, and became that nice old fellow from next door. If we'd known he'd been a steam locomotive driver and inspector we'd have been interested. If we'd known he'd flown in Lancaster Bombers during the war we'd have been in awe. We might have held him in higher esteem. Not that he wasn't an impressive man. He was. Polite, obviously very intelligent. We respected him but we never knew what he was until he was no more. It wasn't until he'd gone we knew he'd written a book. That nice old fellow from next door. I held his hand and heard his last breath. It was an honour to be with him as he left us. If only I'd known it all then.
RIP HF
The Last Breath • Opuss № I