I have previously and exuberantly expressed my abiding love of Maurice Sendak's work. His Where the Wild Things Are breaks all barriers for me, and I rank it among the best books ever. I call it one of the world's perfect books.
Just as when Eudora Welty died several years ago, the news of Sendak's death today has sent me quietly searching for more of him. I am pragmatic about life, about death, about aging. I have no desire to unnaturally prolong life and hope to "go" before I lose connection with who I am in this world. That said, when we lose a iconic, important figure like Sendak, it makes me pause.
I'm so thankful for the life of Maurice Sendak.
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