I love clocks. I’ve always been facinated with almost any kind of timepieces — clocks, watches… whatever. SF tales centered on time have always been my favorites.
Today, though, I’m not as found of clocks. Or time.
Roaul has been given about two months of time left among us.
In fact, Mom called tonight — have I said how I dread getting calls from her in the early evening? — and told me that Merilyn called with the news. She also said they were moving him from home to a “hospice home” of some kind in Halls Crossroads (north of Oak Ridge). The hospice folks just couldn’t take care of him in his home.
Becky and I had already made plans today to go to the mountain tomorrow in preparation for travelling to Oak Ridge on Sunday. This news just steels my determination to go.
I’d rather had seen him in a less… sterile, I guess… setting, but either way, it’ll be great to see him. Hopefully, he’ll know we’re there (Mom’s going up to Oak Ridge, too), and will find some joy in that.
Man, does this seem too familiar.