We’ve been thinking a lot about life lately.
A couple of weekends ago K and I went by ourselves to Sylt, an island in the far northwest corner of Germany just below the border with
Denmark. The sea was roiling and we got doused with rain on our first long walk along the seashore, but the air was invigorating, the light changing with the pace of the wind. When we finally reached a nearby town we took a long time warming up in a cozy inn over luch.
We’d been walking back to our hotel for about two hours along the cliffs and beside the crashing waves.
I looked out over the water and started to wonder about things.
“I’m going to ask you a child’s question,” I said.
“OK…”
“Where does all the water come from?”
“It came out of the formation of the earth four and a half billion years ago,” she said.
“You mean all that heat and pressure caused a reaction between hydrogen and oxygen on a massive scale, and that’s why we have all this water?”
“Something like that.”
We walked on a little more, watching the endless barrage of waves and feeling the cold North Sea wind on our faces.
Then she said, “but you know, when I look at the world and the incredible things in it, and I think of life and how we can create life – like the life of our daughter – it’s incredible, really. And how life can end, too. I’ll never forget being there at the moment my mother’s life came to an end. Sometimes I think about this world and I can’t believe it.”
Once again my thanks to readers near and far who left their kind words.







Just over six months since my own mother’s death, there still are times when it can seem like yesterday – as it does now.
I’ve grown more reflective myself, and have a much sharper sense of time passing. I think especially of Annie Dillard’s words: “How we live our days is, of course, how we live our lives.”
I hope the new year’s filled with good days for you and your family.
I started writing a comment on your previous post right after it went up but got distracted – sorry, story of my life. My sincere belated condolences on your MIL. It sounds like she had a fulfilling life, and I’m also glad you were there for her at the end. Life is amazing, yet fragile. My mother died in ’95, when I was 23, and it taught me not to leave the important things unsaid (as much as possible – I don’t like to badger people).
Your comment isn’t late if it’s written anytime.
Thanks, Michele.