In “Mathematical Fix | ation” (Fall 2023 Intima), Laura Pinto describes the slow decline of her father’s ability to communicate. She tries her best to accompany him along his inward spiral of dementia, in which he has become completely fixated on arithmetic and logic, to the point that she calls him “Professor” rather than father. I am struck by the small joys she discovers in his lucid moments at the end of his life, such as when he calls her by name, only once, in the way he did when she was young. Putting myself in her shoes, I wonder if I would have the grace and openness of heart to delight in similar moments, as untethered as I imagine I might be in the face of impending loss.

This fear of loss has always trailed me like a shadow. From as young as I can remember, I would tell my mother to “drive safely” as I was tucked into bed at night, convinced that some giant hand would strike down from the skies to take her away (and that I could do anything to stop it). In Dianne Avey’s piece “Morning Light” (Spring 2023 Intima), she recalls the moments surrounding her husband’s death at their home in Puget Sound. Her piece is both poignant and gutting; she captures so beautifully the depth of her devastation and yearning, as she does the first, fleeting moments of acceptance. She writes: “And finally, in the end, the only thing we can ever do – is be present and bear witness to the miracle of a departing soul. Sending our loved ones off with a traveler’s prayer and a silent wish that we will, one day, meet again.”

It is human nature to want things to stay just as they are—to quote Alexis Drutchas, in her piece “Legs in Motion” (Fall 2024 Intima), to be “so alive [you don’t] even have to think about being alive.” Yet, as Dianne Avey writes, there are inevitable “cycles of life – tides gone in, tides gone out.” Her description of her final moments with her husband reminds us that there is both beauty and sorrow in holding on tightly to those you love and letting go gracefully when the time comes. Laura Pinto’s memories of the last months spent with her father show how, even in the face of insurmountable loss, there may be small delights to be discovered, like the leaves of a maple tree turning gold, or an unexpected opportunity to sing together one final time.