Today is the anniversary of the death of our daughter, Emily, at 47. I wanted to say something but was at a loss for words. Then I came across a column in yesterday’s New York Times about sentences of the year (the subject-verb-object kind), quoting Washington Post columnist David Frum:
The thought of my own death has never been a distressing subject. We live, we love, we yield the stage to our children. I hoped that when the time arrived, I would have the chance for farewells. If that wish were granted, I could with total content ride the train to my final destination. It never occurred to me that one of my children might board the train first, pulling away as her parents wept on the platform.