No matter the circumstances into which we were born, no matter the personal Mt. Everests we conquered, the wealth and the resulting pleasures we acquired, or the poverty we endured, the honors we gained or the hurtful snubs at the end we are all moralists. In our final hours we understand that the worth of our lives is measured by the personal relationships we had -- as child, student, worker, friend, as son, daughter, brother, sister father, mother, grandparent. In those final hours we realize that our personal universe was small, and whether we did well or poorly, we wish we had another chance so that we could do better.
I feel it to be one of the triumphs in my life that I came to appreciate this before my final hours. I am a few months shy of age ninety-four. By the way, my name is Joseph L. Taylor. I use the "L" to differentiate myself somewhat from the tens of thousands of "Taylors" (such temerity! -- I have seniority rights to that name) in the world, although I would have to add "Junior and "III" to make a full distinction. Another "by the way" -- I am a published writer of personal essays, short stories and poetry, but you will not find my work in your library. My publications were in the Op-Ed and Sunday Magazine pages of newspapers in Philadelphia and in the literary journal "The Compass." But I expect a book of mine that is now in the editing stage to turn up in libraries. More of that later.
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