When the past feels bigger than the future and death whispers for loved ones, a trip to a childhood haunt becomes a moment of reflection on life. Sun Valley, Idaho is where I spent my childhood summers, where my mother and uncles came on the ski train a half century ago, where I’ve now returned to show my own family. The place feels bittersweet and my husband encourages me to think of the words of Heraclitus and Spanish poet Jorge Manrique.