I like that, and of course at the same time loathe it in advance, that “the pain wears off, slightly, around the edge”. I imagine and got the sense that those worn edges return to the core, where the deepest simultaneous pain and love endures until we too inevitably leave other loved ones behind. Memories are unfortunately often more fickle than but always longer lasting than moments. True treasure.
I hope my mother’s, not to mention my father’s and brother’s, and many others of whom I’m fond, “last rain” is still very distant. I particularly like and again loathe the “last rain” analogy. It really speaks to the pain of losing someone – that only rain could metaphorically mark their passing. But of course rain is part of a cycle, which fosters birth, the continuation of life and the decomposition of life extinguished.
Reflection by me, above, from reading: http://m.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2014/05/the-unmothered.html?utm_source=tny&utm_campaign=generalsocial&utm_medium=facebook&mbid=social_facebook
By Ruth Margalit.