On Going Home
Forty-three years ago, four years married, expecting our first child, looking for somewhere to put down our roots. This house on the hill looked good then. With the patina of age and memories it looks even better now.
Here, as the world turns and the generations roll over, our children bring their own giggling children to tumble down the same grassy slopes. Here in memory I hold Jim's hand as he slips into unconsciousness. "I know you want to hang on," I say. "But if it's too hard—it's okay to let go." And he does. This is home.