When I was young I often used to sit in the evening with an old aunt while she told her rosary beads. I remember she once said to me that when each day was ending she always did two things – she looked back and thought how beautiful the day had been, remembering even the simplest things; and she thought about her death.
To a child it seemed a puzzling combination but she was a serene and joyful old lady and I assumed it was not a bad thing to do. Later, of course, I saw that there was religious significance in her evening thoughts that turned in two such different directions – praise God for the beauty of the day but remember also that such beauty passes away all too soon.
