The Things We Leave Behind
The old man had begun to notice how quietly the world prepared itself for his leaving. The mornings came a little slower now, and the stairs seemed longer than they had in his youth. He spent more time sitting by the window, watching sunlight move across the floor and listening to the ordinary sounds of a house that had sheltered a lifetime. There were photographs on the mantel, books he had promised himself he would read again, and a clock that continued its faithful work without caring how many hours remained. He had once believed that life would announce its ending with some great revelation, a final understanding of why he had been here. But now he suspected there would be no grand announcement. There would only be the smell of coffee, the sound of rain against the windows, and the afternoon sun resting on an empty chair. He thought about the people he had loved, those who had gone before him, and those he would soon leave behind. He wondered if he had said enough, forgiven e...