The Message From My Son That Forced An Impossible Choice – The Archivist

but here in the yard, hands dirty, doing the work I’d always loved most.

I slid out from under the truck, my back protesting every inch of movement, joints popping like bubble wrap. Age had turned simple tasks into small battles, but I’d be damned if I’d surrender to a recliner and daytime television. Not while there was still work to be done. Not continue reading …