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And this is the kind of writing that makes me love Kathy T. who talks of loss and love.

I don’t want to be scared of death.  But through my death, I know the memory of my existence on Earth is limited.  I’m not a king or queen or messiah nor is my face carved in stone (for the Taliban to eventually blow up) nor have I achieved something so incredible that I’ll even make an encyclopedia – not even Wikipedia.  But that thought doesn’t bother me like it would have 20 or 30 years ago.  Because in my old age, I know how I’ve remembered people and passed their stories other generations.  Maybe those stories will survive, maybe they won’t, and maybe along with them will be stories about me.  “Remember when Mom blew her nose?  It was so loud!”   Either way it won’t matter because either I’ll be gone and so will my own memory or I’ll be in heaven or hell living on.  Or I’ll be a ghost coming back to scare the crap out of people which I think would be a lot of fun.

She is wonderful. And we need her. She’s that good.