This question is about identity when a close family member or friend passes away. Who am I when a person I love dies? It's not just the practical holes in a life. It's also a seismic shift when we lose the intertwined 'we," who we say we are in relationship to another person. It's deeply disorienting and heartbreaking. For me, who am I when my brother/husband/mother have passed away? I am still a sister/widow/daughter when they are no longer here. Fun fact: Widows hate having their late husband called ex-husband. It wasn't a choice. On forms, there is often only a Single box but I didn't feel single. My parents lost a child at 23 and never recovered. I always include him when asked about who is in my family, 3 brothers, not 2. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________ This question is about identity when aging or illness shrink down a person's physical, emotional or mental capacity so they can't function the way they used to. Inside, they feel the same but it creates a big disconnect between how they see themselves and their external reality. It irrevocably shifts how others see the aging or ill person and how they interact. My artist husband, David, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and fought it for 11 months. He kept going out to paint wedding commissions until his balance was so bad that he fell in front of the guests. I started going with him but he snapped at me when I tried to lay down the tarp for him. It used to be easy for him to do everything himself. As her health care proxy, I went to a doctor's appointment with my 88-year-old mom a month before she died to discuss her wishes if something happened. She was worried about her mental health because she couldn't remember terms for the college class she was auditing on Environmental Law. She could no longer line-edit my pitch to be a Forbes columnist as easily as she did my book. We cross-edited each other's writing all the time.