What the Grave Takes Away

A few weeks after my father died in the fall of 1980, I remember looking at my hands and thinking about his hands. His surgeon hands. His piano-playing hands.

I thought what a loss it was that they were no longer in the world.

The world survived his passing, though -- and with barely a notice beyond his circle of family, patients, friends, acquaintances. Such is the realm of time and space. Life goes on.

Learning to live with that is another step toward wisdom.