More than one hundred years of moments forgotten in an instant as the last breath of life is exhaled. The uniqueness of my Grandfather's knowledge, perspective, and experience deleted completely with his death, inaccessible for the rest of time. Snippets of his life are retained in the memories of at least a hundred others, but they are our memories colored by our own perspectives. His singular experience is lost and, just as innumerable persons before him, he will be totally forgotten in a generation or two, as will I.
It seems we race before this precipice of death, which keeps pace with us, just one step behind. An accident, poor health, old age, anything can cause us to trip up, loose our balance and fall into the abyss of whatever constitutes death. In a desperate attempt to stave off the unavoidable, many treat the symptoms with surgery, drugs, and miracle cures as if by saying, "I don't look like I'm growing old," one might live forever. But we don't.
Life is short because life is now. This moment is it. My son protecting his toys from his very mobile baby sister, my Mom reading to her grandchildren, a final impression of the peaceful face of my Grandfather before he is buried. This is life: the joy, the sadness,
the fullness of life.
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