It was such a nice weekend that we decided to take a drive to visit some elderly and beloved relatives. It's been a long winter, and we'd not seen them for a while. We sat around the table laughing and having our coffee and pie. It seemed like any other visit, but Tim and I both noticed a new sort of weariness. We noticed that his stubborn independence had been replaced by a gracious acceptance of help. We noticed that before his daughter left, she made sure that her mother had both her and her husband's cell phone numbers because their phone upstairs was not ringing in. She wanted to be sure that her mother could reach them in the middle of the night.
We left that warm and loving little home, a place where we had spent so many pleasant times seated at the table talking with two of the loveliest people I know. It seemed that we could hear it, a tick of a grand old clock, a work of art the likes of which you do not see often in this day and age. Somehow, that ticking that had begun to slow without our even noticing. Now we are aware. The ticking is so clear to us, that slow steady tick with the pauses in between; how did we ever miss it?