Downsizing. Compound word. 

Ugly. Utilitarian. Words should be beautiful. Euphonic.

Transcend their base meaning.

Capable of transforming exigency into exultation.

Not this one.

Reducing. Recoiling. Retreating. Retrenching.

Diminishing. Acknowledging geriatric dysfunction. Accepting vanishing horizons.

One more dwelling closer to the Heavenly Gates.

Preparing to relocate. Paring. Cleaning. Sifting. Dumping. Discarding. Disposing.

Filleting our life. Scraping the flesh off the fragile osteoporotic bones of our existence.

Preserving the superannuated skeleton of long-departed wishes, hopes, dreams.

Shedding tears over relics, artefacts, memento mori.

Pictures. Pots. Plants. Periphery.  Bin them. Bin it all. Be ruthless.

Sacrifice sentiment. Nullify nonsensical nostalgia.

To move means to lose. Leave it all behind. Take forward only hope and pragmatism.

But! What’s this?

A circlet of black leather. Worn silvered buckle. Tarnished, but still glinting.

Inlaid with truncated small-bore bullets. A gun dog’s sporting collar.

Dutch! Your life encapsulated in the necklace you wore with pride and defiance.

We thought we had eradicated all physical reminders of your exuberant being.

We believed our memories – multiple, multifaceted, magnificent – would suffice.

Wrong! So wrong!

Progression to the next life stage now put on hold.

Taking turns handling your collar, feeling its strength, smelling your lingering essence.

Overwhelmed by your spiritual presence. Tears we thought would not return come

flooding back. We live in this visceral moment. We melt into each other’s embrace,

offering mutual comfort in our shared grief, but thanking God for the joy you brought.