I don’t have what they refer to as a “steel trap memory.” If at the moment of my death, my life really does pass before my eyes, I suspect that I will find that magnificently informative, given how little of it I can recall at the moment.

But there are exceptions.

I remember with uncanny clarity that moment decades ago when my daughter had her first spoonful of ice cream.  Her eyes studied the glop on the spoon with the same intensity that toddler’s eyes study everything before them. As the glop makes contact with the tongue, she winces at the cold.  And then in an instant her face fills with the wonder of this delightful new discovery.

Exactly the kind of wonder with which I hope my face is often filled on the journey ahead.