Of the things that leave one.

There are those moments where you are less aware of the changes, they happen slowly and resound in a way that takes so long to echo they could easily be considered a different sort of sound completely, by the time they fall back and are noticed.

And then, the instances where the change is undeniably present, like a visitor at the dinner table ready for seconds, watching. They aren't necessarily an unwelcome visitor either, or a rude or obnoxious sort, but perhaps their overall countenance reminds one of the melancholic moments of childhood. A sadness pervades their being so that the others present cannot help but feel its heart-heavy pull.

To the heart-strings of all who have gone through this, are going through it, will go through it. To all of us then, as it is a story and a visit received by most. That we can honour who or what that guest represents and has represented, and that we can graciously walk through these changes not unscathed, but wiser, and with an appreciation of the hues they leave including the bright merry ones, including the more dissonant, difficult shades.