Bits and Pieces

I saw the moving van parked in front of the house across the street and knew it wasn’t a good sign. Molly had lived in that house 50 years until she became ill and her family placed her in a nursing home. The moving van meant she wasn’t coming home.

I walked across the street to talk to her son, Fred. We’d only met a couple of times, but he’d seemed like a nice person.

I asked him how Molly was doing, and I already dreaded the answer.

“Mom doesn’t have much time left,” he said. “They are making her as comfortable as possible at the home. I’m cleaning out the house. I’ve donated most of furnitu...