Before-word:
On the morning of 1st February my phone rang. My heart knew instinctively it was no ordinary call—but I was not prepared for this: “Betty passed.”

Elizabeth “Betty” Talbert, Country Representative for the United Nations Population Fund, Caribbean Subregional Office.
May her soul rest in eternal peace.

---

In processing life’s highs and its lows, I often turn to words. This time was no exception—not just to mark the passing of a life, but to offer a reminder to those of us left behind.

Serving as international civil servants is no small feat. It takes its toll on our bodies, our families, our lives—and yet, amid it all, there is life.

This is not just a tribute to a life lost, but a call to live fully in each moment, to honor the gift of time, and to remember that even in death, we are reminded to cherish living and life.

In Her Memory, We Live

Life is fragile—
A delicate thread stretched too thin,
woven with moments that slip through our fingers
like grains of sand
too swift to grasp.
The pulse, the breath,
so sure in its rhythm one second,
then faltering the next.

Death—in its physical form—
a stillness that steals the breath,
leaving nothing but the echo of a once beating heart.
It doesn’t ask permission—
it simply arrives,
uninvited,
claiming the space we once occupied
and leaving us with nothing but memory to carry the weight of what was.

But there is a death—
one that creeps in unnoticed,
the slow fading of light,
the quiet erosion of self—
the death of the spirit
when the spark of divinity is dimmed,
and the soul wanders
in a vast, empty place
where prayers fall silent
and even faith grows tired.

Then there is a death—
a withering of joy,
a loss of hope,
a weight of sorrow that bends the spirit
and the heart beats only because it must.
You stand in the ruins of yourself,
facing a reflection you no longer recognize,
and wonder when you became a ghost
in your own life
living in emotional death.

The end of connection,
the severing of bonds
that once held you close.
A love that once bloomed
now wilts under the weight of words unspoken,
of wounds too deep to heal.
When the silence between you
grows louder than anything you ever shared,
and the phrase “you’re dead to me”
lays the foundation for relational death.
It’s a slow farewell
to everything you once built.

Death, in all its forms,
takes what it pleases,
but it also leaves
the quiet aftermath
where nothing is ever truly the same.

Still, in the ashes of loss,
there is the possibility of rebirth.
For even in the deepest shadows,
there is the promise of light,
the faintest glow on the horizon,
the hope that tomorrow,
we rise again.

For the truest death is not the one that steals breath,
but the one that robs life of living,
the one that leaves us standing still,
afraid to move toward the light that still calls us home.
It is the death of hope,
the quiet surrender of our dreams,
the moment we forget to reach beyond the shadows that loom
o’er the only true life—
the courage to keep moving,
toward what is yet to come.

“When death finds you, may it find you alive.” (an African proverb)

2025 All Rights Reserved
Designed with Canva

Like what you see? To never miss a post click HERE👈 to subscribe & follow the blog. There’s more HERE👈 and on Spillwords, the Writers Club & Facebook.

In creative solidarity, Dee