Why do we ignore this question? Act like it doesn't matter? Or it doesn't affect us?
It has been bumping around in my mind since I was a very little girl, jostling with questions like: "Who am I?", "What is life?", "What is real?". The questions themselves have become a part of me, they have shaped the lens through which I peer out at the world, baffled by a flower and the inherent wisdom in every seed that gives rise to its bloom, astonished by a sunrise or a sonnet or a laugh. It's as if the whole of life is dancing in miracles and I, imagining myself separate, am deaf to the tune. My Grande is gone and yet, sometimes, I hear the music and the gentle sway of life and I feel her love wrap around me and the sure sounds of her laughter. Perhaps the truest gift I can give to this moment is the honest assertion that Life is. Whether I understand it or not. Life is.