I pulled away from my daughter’s house yesterday in a drizzly rain. It was cold, too. But I was buzzed and happy from the party, the new house, the adopted children. On the way home, however, I ran smack into the other half of life. A funeral procession. Police blocked intersections. Traffic slowed. There was a long somber line of headlights following a hearse. I thought somewhere there is a house full of sadness on this cold rainy day.

It must be an age thing where you see both sides of life everywhere you look. The joy of a newborn child, the pain of loss. The balanced scales of life, and you never know which side you’ll be standing on as they reach equilibrium. I’ve been lucky to live a relatively long time. I plan on living more. As a friend close to the same boat said, he want’s to live this last run of our lives. In other words, do things. No sitting around. I’m all for that. The grass can grow. Just not under my feet.

Having said all that, I’ll finish up the bulk of my Christmas decorations today, in preparation for the children’s party on Friday. And on Thursday, I’ll go celebrate the holiday with friends. But it’s the curse of the aged to always remember the departed, those who have gone on before, who left holes in lives by their passing. Although, it may be more a blessing that a curse, because it does help you understand why joy is so sweet, and why love, when you find it, should be savored.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale