Tough times are coming for my sweet family.
Inevitable changes are seeping into our lives.
We have fought the good fight. We have done our best.
Every person has his own portion of time.
My daddy’s is ending in his eighty-eighth year here.
I am coming undone at the thought of it.
We have always been we.
My daddy, my mama, my sister and me.
Who will we be?
He taught me to tie a figure eight knot this week.
I have been tying granny knots my whole life.
“A figure-eight doesn’t come loose like a granny.” daddy says.
Maybe I need to tie a big figure-eight knot around myself.
Maybe I should tie myself to a tomato stake too; so I won’t blow over or break down.
He has been busy building his planes and directing garden maintenance from his chair.
Those planes, that chair, the shop, the garden, the mountains.
He is everywhere. I cannot imagine him not being there.
Who will we be, we three?
I do not want to know, but we shall see.