On the plane to Mexico City, I thought about how death shreds time. My ordinary life had vanished.

I get mad at everyone because they are working, living. Sometimes I hate you because you're not dying. Isn't that awful?

One of my mother's favorite expressions is "Life is fraught with peril.

The world just goes along. Nothing much matters, you know? I mean really matters. but then sometimes, just for a second, you get this grace, this belief that it does matter, a whole lot.

I told her funny stories about our mother. How once she tried and tried to open a bag of Granny Goose potato chips, then gave up. "Life is just too damn hard," she said and tossed the bag over her shoulder.

...well, I guess it is natural when one is dying to sort of sum up what has mattered, what has been beautiful.