Soon after Kelsey died, I told my friend Judith that my heart would be more at peace if I really knew that consciousness continued beyond death. I thought I was speaking of a spiritual matter. I had no idea it was also a matter of inquiry for neuroscientists. Neuroscientists understand a great deal about the mechanics of consciousness, the intricate ways in which thoughts are transmitted across neurons, but what they don’t know is what gives quality to those thoughts, the subjective aspects of consciousness: the “redness of red and the painfulness of pain”

Within twenty-four hours of learning of Kelsey’s death, I felt compelled to write. I’ve often wondered how writers find their subject. Through dreams? Through personal experiences? Through a persistent question? My subject found me. I filled journal after journal with my musings and was never without a notebook in which to jot down my reflections. I remember the exact moment— while walking along a country road, near our home—when I dared to think of turning those journals into a memoir.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com What do I do with the rage I feel when I see our neighbors kidnapped by unidentified masked men? When I learn of abusive detention centers and flights funded by our tax dollars to countries well-known for their human rights abuses so that immigrants, many of whom are guilty of no more serious a crime than a parking ticket, can be thrown into cages?

7/18/25 Last week I attended a large family reunion. Some of the attendees had very different political and religious views than mine, but for the sake of the children and to maintain an atmosphere of mutual caring, we refrained from any discussion of politics and affirmed the value of our relationships. That warmed my heart, but I wonder what would have happened if we’d put the children to bed and then sat around the campfire, respectfully listening to one another’s political and religious views.