Something happened on that walk. I still felt the grief of loss that occupied the silences between the bustle of everyday life. But something else began to take over: a sense that it was all part of something bigger, that life and death and light and darkness were all one and essential and part of a broader cosmic unity. I miss my best friend, but I will carry with me all that we experienced together—until the day that I, too am gone. I hope to have letf behind some positive memories for others, as well, when my time comes. I also take with me, not only the memories, but an imperative—to live in such a way as to honor the memories of those lost along the way.

People, especially we denizens of western civilization, are often linear critters. Things had a beginning and will have an end. Life is a journey from birth to death to whatever comes after that (I don’t pretend to know). We mark off lives in time relative to predictable expectations and norms and “acting our age.” I am entering what is called “middle age,” bringing with it the expectation that my life is halfway between its beginning and its end, as well as expectations about what I should or shouldn’t do. This linear story often has “high points” and “low points,” an expectation of “glory days” and “good times” (usually in the younger years) and a long, steady decline full of anxiety, nostalgia, and reaction beginning around 40. Is this why middle-aged people so often start thinking the world is coming to an end?