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The Golden Years

The illusion of the term is hardly big enough to cover up the reality. The years are not golden but dimming, confusing, difficult and lonely. My father’s doctor gave him a clean bill of health. “You have a good, strong pulse. As for the other complaints, I’ll do what I can to fix them, but most things are not fixable.”

The decline is sudden, noticeable, followed by a period of  improvement, which brings hope, soon to be shattered. Unlike birth, which makes a clean break from the womb, the return is often filled with lingering and sadness.

“What to do?” Father asked me. He is forever purposeful.

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