Getting older, becoming ill. We all know that’s where we’re headed. We’ve seen grandparents or parents reach that lingering at the threshold of what’s beyond. I watched my father die of ALS, my mother of cancer. But this is what I wonder: How can all this thinking that I do just stop? Because it seems such a force. The rare times when I ‘m able to access what I only know as pure thought–out of reach of the physical–I can believe then that it’s too powerful to no longer exist. But that’s hard to achieve, and I’m mostly left with the question: How can all this thinking just stop? Does everyone have these moments? Does everybody–did Mom and Dad–think as much as that? Or is it just me, an introverted, depressed writer who knows she has kept too much rattling around in her head instead of putting it on paper?