My mother's sister died the other night at the age of 97. She outlived all her contemporaries. The prospect of living on beyond the life you construct for yourself, to experience such loneliness gives me pause. As my brothers are both older than me by at least a decade, the solitude of being last awaits me as well.
I was counting out my late father's coin collection tonight and it seems that all the Indian Head Pennies he threw aside during his thirty five years working for the railroad are worth about thirty seven dollars. The Steel Pennies from the war and all those Jefferson Nickles aren't worth valuing. All over the world people leave behind little troves, worth more for the hope they gave the collectors than anything they will bring.
As stoic said, "life is but a struggle and a strangers sojourn, and after life, oblivion."