ABSTRACT
Often I write my way through difficult times. I did so when my oldest sister was dying of cancer in 1988. Writing a story and letting it form itself out of what I am experiencing keeps me connected to my source, with my deepest, truest self. The stories that follow are familiar; grief and bewilderment on the occasion of a loved one’s death. Especially as women age, we need ways to come through the losses; no longer dependent on organized religion, some of us are creating our own rituals to bear the meaning of our lives.
