“ We were like wanderers in a desert, blessed with a rare downpour, but unable to store the rain. ”
But the past is long, and the future is short.
~ Karen Thompson Walker
This was the first time I noticed it, the inevitable space between father and man.
It requires a certain kind of bravery, I suppose, to choose the status quo. There's a certain boldness to inaction.
I could no longer remember the way my mother's eyes looked before the slowing. Had they always been so red around the edges? Surely, those pockets of gray beneath her lower lashes were new. She still wasn't sleeping well, but perhaps what I was seeing was just age, a gradual shift that I'd failed to register. I sometimes felt the urge to study recent photographs of her in order to locate the exact point in time when she had come to look so weary.