Those who read our posts probably noticed something different about last week’s newsletter. There were no pictures, and given that I am both photographer and writer, this conspicuous absence was likely quite noticeable. I had honestly planned to attach images to the posts, but the events of the week had pulled me elsewhere. I didn’t realize that I had failed to complete this final step before the posts were published. Imagine my surprise when I pulled up the site earlier this week and saw the posts. My writings seemed completely naked without the images.

There was good reason for my inattentiveness. We had a death in the family last week, and for a few days, ordinary life came to a screeching halt. Death creates a palpable void as life pauses for remembrance and reflection. Never is the frailty of life more evident and painful than when death claims one of our own.

He was close to my age. I see more of death now, and life seems more precarious than it was when I was younger. Like a tree bending in strong wind, you wonder when the trunk will finally snap or uproot, only to be carried far away. Another place or another time, it matters not. Life passes into something different, a mystery we have yet to understand fully.

But I am not my age. A number is but one characteristic of my complex humanity. In me, there is a life force, an intricate mix of imagination, strength, hope, courage, and compassion. I am propelled forward with each breath to be new again, to meet life’s joys and challenges in my own unique way. Where nimbleness and quickness fail, there is resiliency and wisdom appreciated by advancing years. It is a mistake to disregard the gifts honed by decades of life.

There are limitations others have wished to place on me. As I have aged, I have seen it in the assumptions others make in word and deed. I will not name them here; they are of little consequence. I have learned to take comfort in my own journey and place in life. Life ends at some point for all of us. Death claims some of us as seniors and others in our youth, but at some point, life ends for us all. In the meantime, it is enough to live and appreciate the other for the person they are. The measure of life is in the living, defined by quality, not quantity, and hopefully with as much humor as possible.

When I was younger, I searched for certainty. Each answer birthed new questions. Such is a lifelong quest and one that imparts both tranquility and awe.

So I retreat to my center, to the forest where I can simply be. There, I listen to the sounds of life around me. I live in that moment and in each following moment I am given, for the now is all any of us really have.