Dear Readers,

As I sit in my garret on a late Sunday afternoon, it occurs to me that there are three things you need in order to live life fully: a sense of what's right (which begins, of course, with parental praise and punishment while you're still a baby); a sense of community (and the importance of your place in it); and many, many smart choices between good and bad behavior as you use up your allotted time on Earth.

(I'm convinced our days are numbered. I know in my aging bones that mine are.)

Pretty deep, huh? Well, that's what happens after a full meal, with peace of mind and ample time, as the sun sets, to simply tickle the computer keys and see what words about human existence appear on the screen.

I may have previously bored you stiff with constant reminders of my unbelievable luck. Oh, hell, I know I did. Sorry, and I won't revisit all the breaks I got in life (and am still getting). I will just tell you a (fairly) quick story about something that happened to me last week as I scurried around to make myself useful as a live-in caregiver to an old woman (Robin, my kid sister, a.k.a. Rawbaw within our tribe) and her funky dawg (Brooke), here in Appleton, Wisconsin.

It just may illustrate that life can be beautiful until your last breath.

I got a call from a woman across town who has been Robin's friend for nearly a lifetime. Linda wanted to drop by and give Robin a photo of Robin's three sons. As usual, Linda had only a few minutes to drop it off, because she is a classical musician in great demand and usually on her way to perform as pianist somewhere local when she stops in here. I told her that Robin was napping, but I could pop out to her car and take the photo from her to give to Robin later.

When she got here, she handed me a framed photo of three incredibly handsome young men. They were all taller than trees, and the youngest man, in the middle, even taller than his two older brothers flanking him, was dressed to marry. They all exuded the optimism of youth and the confidence of happy endings.

These guys were obviously celebrating life, and the click of the camera caught it all. But, with this fabulous photo in my grasp, and having seen Linda off to her concert somewhere, I had doubts about sharing it with Robin. Justin, the joyful groom in the middle of that shot, was taken from her four years ago by pancreatic cancer. Knowing that she still weeps about his death, I had my doubts about giving her the photo.

But who was I to make such a decision? I took the photo upstairs and agonized about what to do with it. Then I took a leap of faith and showed it to her when she rose from her nap.

She cried.

But, among the tears of grief were tears of happiness that she had birthed, known, and nurtured Justin for over four decades.

She dried her eyes and commented on how thoughtful it was of Linda to give her that wedding picture of her youngest son. She asked me to remind her to call Linda, so she could thank her appropriately, too. I have since lined up a call to Linda for tomorrow at mid-morning, when she is at home, practicing for another concert.

I guess the moral to this story is to always go with your sense of what is right.

That photo made Robin's day.

It also helped her realize that life goes on, and — all things considered — that life, with all its ups and downs, is something that none of us should miss.

—Michael E. Hearons