Baby Sprouts

I accustomed myself to accepting death at a very young age.  Death happens.  A person is born, she lives, and she dies.  At its simplest form, a leaf sprouts, soaks in the sun, ripens with color, and crumbles between the fingers in the fall.  In the spring, the cycle will start up again. I thinkContinue reading “Baby Sprouts”

My First Forty Years

Even well into my adulthood, I did not understand parents who said that their reason for not wanting to die was that they didn’t want to leave their children.  Why would they worry about leaving their children?  Their children were healthy and would live.  They, the parents, were the ones whose lives would cease toContinue reading “My First Forty Years”