He had grown old these last few years, time which up to now had been kind to him, had suddenly turned its back on him. The wrinkles that had come with age were still there, but that was to be expected, he was seventy six now. But suddenly it seemed he did not quite stand as tall, he was a little bent now, the fire that had been in his eyes just a few months ago was gone. Where last summer he worked in his garden every day this year he did not, most of his time he spent in a chair there on the porch. He sat there, watching the world around him, but not really thinking about it. No, his mind, and by extension himself were elsewhere. He was looking inward, sometimes summing up his life, sometimes revisiting his youth, but most of the time he was thinking of those many things he had left undone…

  To his family it seemed he was slowly falling into the depths of dementia, but he knew his mind was fine. There were just so many things, so many thoughts, and those things that had once seemed important were not so important now, because he knew that he had lived a full life and time was unforgiving. It was as if the bloom of his youth had disappeared overnight, the children he had once rocked to sleep, had suddenly grown up and had children of their own overnight. So many things had changed, so much of his life was gone now, but he also knew that life was like that, you were given only so many sunrises, only so many sunsets, between there would be storms, and there would be wonderful summer days that never seemed to end. It was a cycle, a cycle like the seasons, and it always changed. That was all one constant you could be sure of, change and the hope that the change would be for the better.

  So often though that was not the case, often it was as though problems piled onto problems, plans that had been seemingly set in stone were changed because of circumstances or fate. Dreams that had been held dear had been dashed, and each time it had happened he had felt a little more of life drained out of him. It was unfair that a man was expected to bear so much, it was unfair to the man and to his family. Each time the load grew heavier he withdrew a bit more, he gave just a little bit more of is strength, and the clock ticked closer to that final day that everyone must eventually meet, ready or not. But that was the way of it, there was no escape, no free pass. It happened ready for it or not, it was what was called life…

  Let us not assume that all his thoughts were this dark, there mingled among them patches of light, memories that brought a smile to his lips, walking on a sandy beach on a cool summer night with his wife, as the waves gently lapped up on the shore. The smell of a fresh autumn day, when the crisp of the air filled his lungs, and the laughter of his children as they all played one day in the yard. Perhaps what the old man was doing was simply inspecting his life, balancing it against the one he had hoped for, comparing the measure and checking to see if it fell short of what he thought should have been. Perhaps, but that is not for us to know, all we can do from here on the outside is try to understand his thoughts and maybe in our own judgment, clouded as it is with what we have done, have known, have hoped and felt, attempt to draw a meaning to this that satisfies us… as we too look in.