A night no longer passes where I do not think of death. Sitting in the uncomfortable padded chair by the window or propped up in bed and staring vacantly at light night infomercials, my mind wanders to topic like a moth to flame. I’m not a morbid person by nature, but surrounded with death and illness, I can’t help thinking dark thoughts. I will be 98 in June and I’ve spent the last seven years in a state run nursing home where death and dementia are an ever present fact of life. Every couple of days, it seems, someone I play cards or checkers with falls by the way. At night, ghostly moans and mad screaming drift through the long,…