Write My Name Across the Sky

by Barbara O'Neal

The great tragedy of aging is not the loss of the supple body but the illusions we are forced to leave behind, one after the other, like a string of pearls from a necklace. That all will be well, that dreams can come true, that we can always do what we wish, that sacrifice and sorrow are not inevitable.

My gift has always been an ability to be happy. It sounds small until you live in the world for a while. Despite my worry and the scythe hanging over my head, I am even happy in this moment.