It was unseasonably warm for November; the sun was brilliant with only a few wispy clouds scattered here and there, but the autumn leaves swirling in the wind were a reminder that winter was just around the corner.
I decided to take a walk in the nature trail near my house. I didn’t like leaving my elderly mother home alone for too long but she was having one of her lucid days and insisted she’d be fine at home doing some sewing.
I wasn’t gone long when it started getting cloudy and cold. As I walked up the front path, I spotted my mother sitting in her rocking chair on the porch. She was busy at work, her sewing basket by her side.
“Mom, it’s cold. Come inside and I’ll put on the kettle for tea.”
My mother looked up and smiled sweetly but her eyes were blank; I could tell she didn’t know who I was.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that. I need to stay here. You see, I’m waiting for someone and I have to finish my mending” she replied.
“Who are you waiting for?” I asked quietly, dreading her answer.
“My husband. The war is over and he’ll be coming home very soon.”
It was then that I noticed mom was repairing the zipper on my late father’s WWII bomber jacket. Little by little, day by day, Mom slipped deeper into another era – a time long gone but fresh in her mind as though it all happened just yesterday.
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