The Times had a fine article on the Literature of Death recently, and two thought-provoking pieces came to our attention at the same time.
1. Why there are no big milestones to achieve in my life by Heidi Wilk
[In] minutes my world crashed around me. My husband had
a seizure while picking our daughter up from daycare... He was diagnosed with an
incurable brain tumour.
My husband is going to die young. We are not going to grow old together. The moment of diagnosis was the saddest and darkest time of my life. Not where I expected to be at 32. Why? Download Wilk Barankin
2. The Joy of Old Age (No kidding) by Oliver Sacks
Eighty! I can hardly believe it. I often feel that life is about to begin, only to realize it is almost over.
I feel glad to be alive — “I’m glad I’m not dead!” sometimes bursts out of me when the weather is perfect. (This is in contrast to a story I heard from a friend who, walking with Samuel Beckett in Paris on a perfect spring morning, said to him, “Doesn’t a day like this make you glad to be alive?” to which Beckett answered, “I wouldn’t go as far as that.”). Download Sacks 80