a radio was on.

 Part of me just assumed I would get old and die a grandmother, a great-grandmother.  I would be old and small and round, and bake cookies and write poetry and insist upon certain grammar rules.  I would magically have a house by the sea, and I would die in a magically white bedroom, with the white linen curtains blowing in the gentle wind, and the sound of the waves breaking on the sand.  I wouldn't be worried about climate change and no one with the last name Trump would be president.   Before I got sick, I tried to think my worries into protection--I bet you do this, too.  If I could conceive of it, that would somehow protect me and my children from "it" actually happening.  If one of the kids was late coming home in high school, I would lie in the dark and imagine how their inevitable death by [drunk driver, serial killer, choking on a large piece of apple (I can't quite lose my anxiety about this one, despite the fact that my youngest are now...

 Part of me just assumed I would get old and die a grandmother, a great-grandmother.  I would be old and small and round, and bake cookies and write poetry and insist upon certain grammar rules.  I would magically have a house by the sea, and I would die in a magically white bedroom, with the white linen curtains blowing in the gentle wind, and the sound of the waves breaking on the sand.  I wouldn't be worried about climate change and no one with the last name Trump would be president.   Before I got sick, I tried to think my worries into protection--I bet you do this, too.  If I could conceive of it, that would somehow protect me and my children from "it" actually happening.  If one of the kids was late coming home in high school, I would lie in the dark and imagine how their inevitable death by [drunk driver, serial killer, choking on a large piece of apple (I can't quite lose my anxiety about this one, despite the fact that my youngest are now...

"We're all just walking each other home."  Ram Dass I've talked about darkness before in these pages.  I like to think about what darkness was like for the Puritans, in particular, who came to this vast, uncharted country and had no idea what lurked in the dark woods, what manner of creature.  If a tall, dark man lingered at the edge of the field, it could be Satan.  Of course, that's still true.  But I think it meant differently then.  No one living in this country, what we now think of as a country, had the puzzle shape map of the United States in their heads.  You might live near an ocean, but you would never see the ocean bordering the other side of the land, thousands of miles away. The darkness of caves.  I went into caves as a child, but I don't think I could now.  I don't like to think I'm afraid of that deep, irreproachable darkness, but I know I am afraid of the borders being too close. My stomach hurts when I think about crawling t...

"We're all just walking each other home."  Ram Dass I've talked about darkness before in these pages.  I like to think about what darkness was like for the Puritans, in particular, who came to this vast, uncharted country and had no idea what lurked in the dark woods, what manner of creature.  If a tall, dark man lingered at the edge of the field, it could be Satan.  Of course, that's still true.  But I think it meant differently then.  No one living in this country, what we now think of as a country, had the puzzle shape map of the United States in their heads.  You might live near an ocean, but you would never see the ocean bordering the other side of the land, thousands of miles away. The darkness of caves.  I went into caves as a child, but I don't think I could now.  I don't like to think I'm afraid of that deep, irreproachable darkness, but I know I am afraid of the borders being too close. My stomach hurts when I think about crawling t...

Liminal space is a space between spaces.  Perhaps liminal spaces have borders; if they do, we might imagine the liminal as a border, then a space, then another border.  For example: life, border, liminal space, border, death.   I don't know--that feels like too many borders, because of course, borders conjure up gates and walls, and even, these days, border patrols and children caged. I imagine these borders between life and death are porous, the moonlight leaking through.   My dear friend Robin is in a liminal space right now.  She has been in hospice care for some time.  I visited her--really my family visited her, on different occasions.  Zoe brought her doodle puppy to meet Robin--Robin's daughter Jenny has a doodle puppy too, and then Robin has a stately older doodle, who had a dignified presence the puppies had not grown into.  The dogs tumbled and barked and peed on the floor, and Robin held court.  Avery and Angelo came anot...

Liminal space is a space between spaces.  Perhaps liminal spaces have borders; if they do, we might imagine the liminal as a border, then a space, then another border.  For example: life, border, liminal space, border, death.   I don't know--that feels like too many borders, because of course, borders conjure up gates and walls, and even, these days, border patrols and children caged. I imagine these borders between life and death are porous, the moonlight leaking through.   My dear friend Robin is in a liminal space right now.  She has been in hospice care for some time.  I visited her--really my family visited her, on different occasions.  Zoe brought her doodle puppy to meet Robin--Robin's daughter Jenny has a doodle puppy too, and then Robin has a stately older doodle, who had a dignified presence the puppies had not grown into.  The dogs tumbled and barked and peed on the floor, and Robin held court.  Avery and Angelo came anot...

Through a glass darkly--the phrase comes from the Apostle Paul, who explains that we cannot see, except obscurely, that when we look, it is only through a clouded version of what is real.  When we die, perhaps, we will see clearly.  Maybe Paul is sure about that.   Someone I love was talking today about the young, the babies and the children, and how much closer they are to the mystery of what came before we took our first breath and began the process of forgetting.  Or, to put it another way, of looking back through a glass darkly. The poet Joy Harjo talks about her experiences with her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, who remember her from other lives.  We knew each other before, they tell her.   It was a long winter in many ways, followed by a spring filled with loss.  I don't know when to say the loss started, actually--it has been loud this whole year.  We have lost too many people from my metastatic cancer group.  When s...