THE GREATEST MYSTERY OF ALL<br > One hundred thousand years ago Paleolithic people gathered to-<br >gether some bones and shells and created the first ritual in human<br >history. It was a death ritual. Last week I stood on a beach with my<br >family， raised a glass in tribute， and scattered seashells into the ocean.<br >It was a death ritual.<br > The toast was in the name of my mother-in-law， who had died<br >seven days before， the shells her personal collection of mementos<br >gathered from the places she had loved. We honored her name，<br >drank to her spirit， and symbolically released our attachment to her，<br >giving those lovely delicate shells and polished stones over to the sea，<br >over to impermanence incarnate in the wind and the waves.<br > During the week since Eugenia died we had definitely done<br >some crying but we had spent most of our time meeting the myriad<br >requirements that arise in the aftermath of a contemporary life. In<br >addition to dealing with the phone company， the post office， the<br >bank， and the government， we found ourselves writing letters， pack-<br >ing boxes， and consoling others. Taking care of her business was， in a<br >way， like taking care of her.<br > Now， on the beach， a finality began to sink in. She was really<br >and completely gone. Death had come to us in her place， interrupt-<br >ing the assumption of future， reminding us of our fragility. It was a<br >rainy day but we ignored the gathering storm， huddling together on<br >the sand long after the shells and the champagne were gone. We<br >