by Katherine Gotthardt What I’m learning about aging is we don’t do it alone – everything able to dust gather lines alongside us, trinkets defiant on that same cherry shelf saved from the fate of the thrift shop. We think when someone passes, this time they’ll look twice, ask what we knew before now, where we found the most value. But mostly we see each other, silver and heavy in our limited number, tarnishing into the unrecognizable. Just things atop meaningful things. Waiting to be remembered.