I remember this one clearly, but it is not a happy remembrance. He lay in the deathly white sheets, weighed down by far more than his years. A fragile husk in mind and body.

He looked up at me, the shadows of my arrival already carved deep into his face. Wasn’t surprised, wasn’t fearful. Almost glad, seeing the gift that I offered in the gleam and curve of my scythe. He nodded in acceptance, and I could see the pain and regret that had brought him to this time, this place.

Out of sympathy, and some measure of understanding, I let the sounds drop away. Let him have a few moments of peace and quiet.

“You loved her very much.”
“I never told her.”

I didn’t have any answer to that. No-one ever really understands the consequences of their choices until I come to them. It was to his credit, though, that he had not hastened the encounter.

He nodded again, and this one was permission. The scythe came down.

In another life the encounter might have been far happier. Or perhaps not.

Such is Death.