I just looked at the pictures of mom's house for sale. A strange feeling came, of emptiness, of vacancy. I was reading this morning about processual biology. We're processes, but also we're beings. What do we need to reconcile? The feeling of being in the house left behind, that appeared as though waiting for them to return from vacation, as if they could return this time, to another time. Maybe we may return to every place we've been when we leave this body. When I look at the house staged for sale I can't imagine who else would live there. Who? I hope someone comes in and will be happy inside. And then I think of this place, of us gone, and someone else living right where I'm writing now. What essence will remain of us where we lived?