Barbara J. Hamby

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Transitions

Most of the leaves on the tree outside my window are pink-gold now, clinging to the branches as if refusing to ride with the breeze that seeks to remove them. There are some blank spots on that tree, but the huge cherry in the background appears not to have thinned its magenta leaves at all. October seems to be giving up in defeat, but November will surely do her best to denude all the leafy trees.

Al and other relatives are staying with his mother during her passage out of this life. I hope my decision to support him by being on call, if needed, was the right one.

It is hard to concentrate on writing about past life experiences while contemplating what the future will be like for Al without his mother. She has been in his life for more than seventy-five years. Few of us have any parent for that period of time.

I felt fortunate to have sixty-five years with my mother. I was only fifty-six when my father passed away. They were relatively young parents and I was their first-born, a very long time ago.