after Mother died I could look at a photograph of her till kingdom come, but it never game me back what it was to sit across the kitchen table from her flesh and bones, never gave me back the feeling, you know. The inside of the feeling.
It comes to me that fear of death is, love of the world. The desire not to be excluded from the world. That perhaps at the heart of all my assumptions is the assumption that after death I will stop being a part of things.