11/10/2025
Poetic.
“We’ve been going to these pop-up discussion groups at the public library, where people discuss death. I don’t think Tony would go if it wasn’t for me. Most people don’t like to talk about it, but I have questions. Not so much about death anymore. But I have questions about living as I get old. You know how people always say that you walk forward into the future? It’s not true. You walk backwards into the future. You can’t see what’s ahead. Maybe occasionally you can look over your shoulder, and get a glimpse. But mostly you can only see your past receding behind you. And the past that’s receding behind me is getting bigger and bigger. I’m trying to learn to say goodbye, and move forward. But how do you do that? When every week you hear about some other beloved person who’s died, that you’re never going to see again? I feel like I walk around with a retinue of ghosts, beloved ghosts. All the time I see images from the past: the people and the pleasures and the adventures and the beautiful places. And I could just go there and live there. You know how they say about some people: ‘She’s lost in the past?’ I can see how it happens. I could get there. It’s comfortable there, and nothing is demanded of me. And it’s not just the comfort of the past. It’s the danger and uncertainty of what’s ahead of you. I’m fine, and pretty functional, and strong. But I could have a stroke or a heart attack any minute. It could happen at any moment I’m walking down the street. Is this going to be it? Is this going to be the walk? I don’t think of it constantly. I can still be captured by a wonderful play, or a beautiful river, or a child that is so sweet looking at his parents. But it increasingly feels like I’m leaping over chasms from joy to joy.”
