After the death they don’t gather for the person, They gather for the ending.

Because the same phone that never rang to ask, “How are you?”

suddenly won’t stop ringing to say, “They’re gone.”

And then they appear.

As if an invisible door has been opened —

a door no one could find while that person was still alive.

The hugs that were never given arrive all at once.

The flowers never sent are laid gently beside a silent body.

The kind words once withheld are finally spoken —

when they can no longer be heard.

Some cry loudly… almost desperately.

Not always from loss,

but from the weight of everything left undone.

Because the stillness of a coffin has a way of shouting

about missed calls, postponed visits,

and “someday” that never came.

How easy it is to love someone

when they can no longer respond.

How convenient it is to praise someone

when they can’t remind you how absent you were.

How simple it is to look like a devoted son,

a caring brother,

a loyal friend…

when the only true witness no longer breathes.

It’s uncomfortable to admit,

but many funerals are not crowded with love —

they are crowded with regret dressed as grief.

And if these words unsettle you,

it isn’t because they’re harsh.

It’s because, somewhere deep inside,

you remember a visit you postponed…

a call you meant to return…

a promise you quietly let fade.

And now you’re hoping

there’s still time.

 

My friend Celia Farber, an intrepid, highly respected journalist whose name will forever be linked with exposing the truth about HIV and AIDS (whose blueprint was replicated by Anthony Fauci for the covid scam) recently wrote a post about the anguish of whistleblowing. It's often a thankless job that frequently destroys your life--if it doesn't kill you.

Without people willing to sacrifice their well-being for that of the public, we'd have been toast a long time ago. It's only because of their bravery that we're able to continue to fight the power.

This is what I wrote in response. The link to her post is below.

"It's bitterly ironic, isn't it, that a person can commit insider trading, sexually abuse children, manufacture prescription drugs they know will kill, rig elections, steal pension funds, brainwash an entire nation and suffer no consequences, but if you dare to expose the house of cards, the cancerous machinery under the hood, expose the terrible lie for what it is--a crime against humanity--you can be stalked, harassed, vilified, slandered, made a pariah, you can lose your career and your way to make a living, your house can be burned to the ground; you can even be disappeared.

It's a thankless job to be a truth teller, a whistleblower, and yet somehow people step up and fight the power and suffer the blowback and endure the terrible things done to them. It breaks some people. It ruins families. It kills others.

For those who care and matter, the truth teller or whistleblower becomes heroic no matter what the outcome. When people speak of them to others it's in glowing, respectful encomiums. I've heard more than a few people speak of you that way, people I did not know. No one can truly appreciate what you suffered, but they hold you in the kind of esteem they don't hold for other achievers. You went beyond the call of duty, not for money, but because you have integrity and you wanted this important truth to be known.

I'm sorry you had to pay such a high price. Mankind can never repay its debt to you, but people can still let you know how grateful they are to you for putting yourself on the line. "

https://tinyurl.com/3cysnn8t

 

 

 IT'S JUST THE BEGINNING FOLKS!