I turn 67 in September. Wrote down what I actually know about the end of a life: a chipped mug, a scan that turned out to be nothing, and the one thought too heavy to carry…that someday I won't see her face again. Turns out that's not a wound. It's a receipt.
open.substack.com/pub/joadt/p/...
open.substack.com
What Is Left
Notes from the shape of a life, near the end of it.
