Descent of the Host, 48th Day of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Deneb): Impermanence is swift. As you've heard, it's something I say when I hear or think about someone's passing. Some people incorrectly consider it a flippant, off-hand wise crack, sort of like Vonnegut's "So it goes," but to me it's sincere. It's a reminder that our time in this world is brief, our dew-like life easily disappears, and that we should appreciate and treasure every moment of our lives while we can.

Case in point: early this morning I got a telephone call informing me that my little sister lost her year-long battle with cancer last night. Impermanence is swift. She apparently passed in her sleep; her husband, who sleeps in a separate room because of snoring, found her lifeless body in the morning.

She underwent surgery for oral cancer in her cheek about a year ago and went through an extensive program of chemo-, radiation-, and immunotherapy for several months. Late last summer, the cancer came back despite the surgery and treatment, and took its final and ultimate toll at some time last evening.

Impermanence is swift. I talked to her quite a bit over the last year, trying to comfort her and console her as she went through her trials and tribulations, and acted as a sounding board to let her vent her frustrations and concerns. I'm glad that I was able to say "I love you" to her more times in the past year than I probably did in the past 20 years. Her husband told me that her final words were probably "love you" as she went to bed last night.