The Ancientrail

Samain                                                                   Thanksgiving Moon

Worked in this Johns-Manville factory for two summers for Stephanie's dad
Worked in this Johns-Manville factory for two summers for Stephanie’s dad

As we grow older, there are many times when we realize, sometimes even say, boy, that makes feel old. I’m sure you’ve had one of those moments. If you’re older, that is. Not assuming. I remember the first time somebody called me sir. It puzzled me, made me turn my head to see who was behind me. Or, there was the time in Hot Springs, South Dakota when I noticed a ten-percent reduction on my bill. The cashier at the front explained, “Oh. That’s our senior discount.” Oh. The list could go on. Easily. Signing up for medicare. Even, for me, that very early, late thirties, instance of going deaf in one ear. Made me feel my imminent mortality in a way nothing else had other than the death of my mother.

All of these incidents, some funny, some bemusing, all trail markers on the third-phase path, have been, so far, just that, sort of funny, at worst bemusing. One that came the other day was neither funny nor amusing.

Reading through facebook posts, which I do with less angst these days because I know it helps me stay connected to folks I’d otherwise miss completely, I found a note that says Stephanie Lewis died of complications from dementia. Stephanie was my first serious girlfriend, my first kiss and she helped me a lot during the death of my mother. We parted before college. I don’t recall why. She was 1 year younger than me.

Now she’s dead. From complications of dementia. According to her mother, it had something to do with an extreme low sodium diet and seizures.

I did reconnect with Stephanie three or four years ago, mostly to say thanks for helping after Mom died. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever done that. We did communicate a couple of times through e-mail. I’m very glad I did that now.

This crooked path we call life carries us along, always in Charon’s boat, just not knowing when it will bump against the other shore. Steph has landed. And I know, once again, that I’m in that boat, too, and the muddy river Styx flows just below the gunnel. I hope if anything greeted her on the other shore that it is a pleasant and peaceful place. She deserved it.