The hospice social workers call it “life review,” the point in a hospice patient’s evolving space a patient begins to review his or her life, to look back and sum it up, and see if there is any last thing or two they wish to see or do. Often, it’s connecting with a long-lost relative or friend, making piece with an enemy, smoothing over some  hard feeling, many times I have been asked to find a long-lost relative, not heard from since some forgotten feud decades ago.

In hospice work, we volunteers learn to look for this review, it is a sign the end is near, and it is important to listen carefully, as it the last chance for this person to make peace with themselves.

As they near the edge of life, people get reflective, they review their lives and try and make sense of them, summarize them.  I hear many regrets, and then resignation and acceptance. I think the people Red and I see who are dying are the freest and most authentic people I ever meet, they are truly in the throes of a liberation that is almost incomprehensible to the living.

The stories they tell me have affected me deeply, I listen carefully to them and  often replay them in my head – their memories, regrets, proud accomplishments. This was never depressing for me, but inspiring and uplifting. For a story-teller, what could possibly be more compelling than stories told at the end of life from people with no reason to be anything but open and honest. I have had the warmest moments of friendship, laughter and love out there on the edge. It has changed me in so many ways and helped me to begin to see what it means to be a human being.

One of the lessons that I learned is to make peace with my life. I find myself reviewing my life. I had occasion – an important occasion – to review my life for someone today, to explain my move to the farm, my life there, my divorce, my breakdown, the collapse of publishing and the recession, the swirl of storms that engulfed me, the great and wonderful things that happened to me. How is it, he asked me, that you came to this happy and fortunate place after all of that suffering? I don’t know, I said, I will perhaps never know, but I think that is what is too for me to wake up and get where I needed to go.

I know that I have some things I need to do in my life. That are very important to me. And they can’t wait until the end.

I expect to live a good while, but not forever, I intend to face death, look it in the eye, figure out how to do it as best I can. I am beginning to be old, that wonderful twilight time of understanding, acceptance and limitations that the great thinkers – Marquez, Merton, Cheever, O’Connor – wrote about so skillfully and poignantly.  It is haunting and sweet and humbling. What do I want to do with my time.

Well, for sure, I don’t mean to waste it on drama, regret, struggle stories, whining or lament about the great old days, the quirks of the young, the times that are changing too quickly. I have been thinking about the things left to me that need to be resolved. I think about my daughter, about the first Bedlam Farm, about getting my personal house – shattered by so many storms coming to close – in order. One day I imagine I will leave Maria behind and while she is strong and can quite easily care for herself, I don’t want to leave any messes behind or loose ends.

I want to leave the world as a complete and aware human being.

It has taken me so long to understand how to manage life, take responsibility and figure out who I am, I am determined to do it, it one of my great remaining goals, along with writing a dozen great books, taking Maria to Florence,  taking a million great photos, publishing the best blog ever, getting to 100,000 likes, visiting Gee’s Bend, Alabama, spending a week at Disney World.

I realized this week that I have begun to review my life in earnest, sum it up, take care of my business, another step in the long and winding road to fulfillment and a life with meaning. I don’t know if this is the hospice work or getting older, I suppose it doesn’t really matter.

I had a dream about it the other night, I was lying down in bed, an old Red dog was lying at my feet, Maria was sitting in a chair reading, holding my hand. I was looking back on my life. I was at the edge of life, I had that look.  I think I was a good husband and partner and lover to the end, I said, I think I learned how to be a good father, I think I took responsibility for my life, I wrote my best books at the end of my life, took my best photos, had the best friends and loved them. I hope I encouraged you every day of your life and never tore you down or made you feel small or ignored your voice. I hope I have thanked every day for the great joy you have brought to my life.

I smiled. And I even figured out what to do about handling money, didn’t I?

There was music in the background, a breeze coming through the window, the scene was on our farm, it was peaceful and bright and green, the curtains stirring in the wind in that magical way they seem to do in old farmhouses. Did I really do all of those things, my sweet love? Did I really figure out who I am?

In the dream, Maria took my hand and squeezed it. Yes, you did, you sweet man, yes you did all of those things. In the dream, I was smiling from ear to ear. And when I woke up, Maria was looking at me, and asking me why I looked so happy.