The small corner of Glebe I call home has lost two of our elders recently. Both of them with their quiet strong gentle presence gave the area a solidity and feeling of continuity that is lesser with their deaths.
A whispering emptiness drifts around the streets until the local lost boys scream through on their powered scooters their raucous "I am" filling any empty spaces.
I've heard it said that every time an older person dies it is as if a library goes up in flames. We have lost two. It is too much in four months.
How has this disconnect between the local lost boys, their fringe dwelling sisters and the elders been allowed to become our normal? And what do we, in between, do to bridge the gap?