The decision to write every day fell, then the decision to write every other day followed. Now we are down to once a week. Maybe.
Two of my sisters are down from Colorado to visit. It is a bit sobering to think this could well be the last time we see each other. And time sure has put its mark on us. I see my dad’s face in both as they talk, and I suppose those genetic markers will continue for generations to come with their children, and their children’s children. I muse. And so, time goes, strewing its bits of DNA hither and yon.
My life, as insignificant as it is is still my life, and we retell stories of our life while sitting around the table. We tell the stories that shaped and molded us. Those bits will also echo down the generations. There was laughter. Sadness. Regrets. Resolve. And maybe even some remorse. But it was our life.
And I think of my passing …
Regrets? Yeah, I have a few. And while I am not all that enamored with the ride on Charon’s boat upon the River Styx, such is my fate. I can only hope to accept it with grace, and maybe a bit of stoicism.