I went to my dad's last night to help pay bills, as I've done every week without fail (practically) since Mom died five years ago. Dad's 70 now. His hair's been white for a while but suddenly last night, he looked old. Suddenly last night he looked like he might becoming frail. It was easy for me to imagine being at his funeral the way we'd been at Mom's.
He told me a story of a hawk that he saw catch a sparrow. The hawk perched on his back fence and ripped the sparrow to shreds. He said it was horrible to watch. I spent the evening thinking about how death stalks each one of us. It lurks right behind. We might die violently or gently, but we are gonna die. Remember that, and let it make each moment sweeter.
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