Kevin Costner has been talking lately about a list of things we should all know by the time we are 50. Such as: we are not going to win the lottery, how to take a compliment, how to ask for a date, how to make peace with our parents, and how to save both a life and the planet. But the two that really touched me was How to Grieve and How to Die. On grieving, Dylan Thomas wrote, "After the first death, there is no other. That doesn't mean the ones that come after won't break our heart, but it's the first that punches our soul's passport." I'm not quite sure how I stand with that idea. I experienced several close deaths in my teen years. My parents divorced when I was very young and my relationship with my father became distant as his job moved him to a neighboring state, making visitation rare. Dad and I both ended up living in Houston in the 60's. In our awkward ways, we were working to gain some of the closeness and healing we each wanted, when I found myself unexpectedly craddling his head in my lap in the wee hours two days before Christmas 1970 as he died; he was 51 years old and I was 19. No one else was up to it, so as the only child, it fell to me to pick out a casket, chose songs, and make all the arrangements - with no experience and no clue what I was doing. That death stunned and it was five years later, standing in front of a bathroom mirror getting ready for work and to drop two little girls off at daycare, that the impact and loss finally hit and I went to my knees. Having said all that, when I held my dying husband in my arms, again with no warning, in much the same way 33 years later ~ I believe it was then that my soul's passport was punched. Nothing would ever be the same. Nothing. Costner quoted Ellen Larkin as saying, "Welcome, fellow human, to a different country than the one you woke up to this morning The air's different here; so is the scenery. Your knees don't work so well; in fact, you may want to fall to them. For some of us the stay in this new country seems endless. But time passes, seasons change, and truly, would the one we loved so much want us to mope? Come with me, back into the world. We'll return to this land someday, all too soon, but in the meatime the garden needs weeding, the bills need paying. Your other loved ones need you. And you, my sweet friend, you could use a shampoo.

On How to Die, Costner simply writes: The point of the party is not your leaving it. Apologize for any breakage, thank your hosts, listen when they say they were glad you could come, mean it when you say you had a wonderful time, then grab your coat and go. Make sure the door closes behind you. Don't forget your hat.