The bodies are everywhere, well, figuratively speaking. For those of us privileged to experience old age, like pall bearers, we carry our share of losses. We mourn, and . . . we celebrate. For while death is inevitable, so is life in all its wild and willful glory.
Recently, I’ve had to meditate on loss because of a visual impairment that makes unsafe activities I used to relish. After moving to Ontario from Vermont, I discovered a theatre lab that holds readings once a month. These are at night, making it necessary for me to figure out how to attend without my usual sense of independence. This is a safety issue, mine and all those who might be on the road with me when darkness falls.