His kids and grandkids brought him to a special place in his heart where the trees reach to the heavens, and autumn leaves drift to the ground to join others that will soon be buried in a blanket of white. The smell of campfires and roasted hot dogs is pleasing, as the kids jump in the piles of fallen leaves piled high with a rake Dad brought along for just that reason.
They have been coming to this park since he was a toddler, with his first memory being Mom holding his hand and walking through the forest as she pointed out different names of the trees. But all he wanted to do was run and jump into the piles like his older siblings were doing. She let go of his hand, and he took off as fast as his little legs would run, falling more than once but finally reaching the pile and throwing himself into it, laughing and throwing leaves at everybody around him.
As time marched on, they went to the park on any given autumn Sunday with sunny skies and cool autumn breezes. The grill heated up as Dad announced it was finally time to cook. Mom brought out salads and cut-up fruit, as well as her famous baked beans, which Dad would heat before serving. There were cheese platters and crackers as well as plenty of chips and dips, making for a feast fit for a king.
When everybody had their fill, Dad would fall asleep for a nap as he always did, and Mom and he went for a walk holding hands until something caught his eye and found him running ahead, stooping down to look at a small snake. Will it bite me? he asked, and she carefully picked it up very gently, showing his markings that, in this case, was just a harmless garden snake out for a stroll like them.
As kids do, he grew up and had a girlfriend whom he brought with him to a Sunday picnic to meet everyone, and from the look on Mom's face approved of his choice. After eating, he took his mom's hand and walked into the forest, naming the trees and going back in time to when he jumped into his first pile of leaves or caught his first snake. Their walks were just as important as any other family tradition that was held close to their hearts.
Many years passed, and circumstances prohibited some Sunday picnics, but Mom always insisted on just one more in October, when the colors of autumn were those of an artist's palette she had to see once more. My sisters made all the food like Mom once did, and Dad passed on the cooking duties to my son while he listened to the game on his radio, and Mom told him to lower the volume as she couldn't hear herself think. After a while, Mom asked me if I was ready for our walk, which surprised me a little, as she needed a cane to get around, but she was determined, so off we went slowly into the forest, holding hands one more time.
As life has it, we all leave this world, and we rely on our memories to hold on to special people and things we never will forget. To me, one of my most vivid memories is my walks with Mom on a sunny autumn day, holding hands and being loved. So here I am again with a lot of laugh lines on my weathered face, a walking stick gifted to me way back when, and one last walk with Mom in spirit but all very real. When I pass, I've instructed my children to scatter my ashes in that beautiful place where my soul will rest, and Mom looks over me with an outstretched hand.
As time marched on, they went to the park on any given autumn Sunday with sunny skies and cool autumn breezes. The grill heated up as Dad announced it was finally time to cook. Mom brought out salads and cut-up fruit, as well as her famous baked beans, which Dad would heat before serving. There were cheese platters and crackers as well as plenty of chips and dips, making for a feast fit for a king.
When everybody had their fill, Dad would fall asleep for a nap as he always did, and Mom and he went for a walk holding hands until something caught his eye and found him running ahead, stooping down to look at a small snake. Will it bite me? he asked, and she carefully picked it up very gently, showing his markings that, in this case, was just a harmless garden snake out for a stroll like them.
As kids do, he grew up and had a girlfriend whom he brought with him to a Sunday picnic to meet everyone, and from the look on Mom's face approved of his choice. After eating, he took his mom's hand and walked into the forest, naming the trees and going back in time to when he jumped into his first pile of leaves or caught his first snake. Their walks were just as important as any other family tradition that was held close to their hearts.
Many years passed, and circumstances prohibited some Sunday picnics, but Mom always insisted on just one more in October, when the colors of autumn were those of an artist's palette she had to see once more. My sisters made all the food like Mom once did, and Dad passed on the cooking duties to my son while he listened to the game on his radio, and Mom told him to lower the volume as she couldn't hear herself think. After a while, Mom asked me if I was ready for our walk, which surprised me a little, as she needed a cane to get around, but she was determined, so off we went slowly into the forest, holding hands one more time.
As life has it, we all leave this world, and we rely on our memories to hold on to special people and things we never will forget. To me, one of my most vivid memories is my walks with Mom on a sunny autumn day, holding hands and being loved. So here I am again with a lot of laugh lines on my weathered face, a walking stick gifted to me way back when, and one last walk with Mom in spirit but all very real. When I pass, I've instructed my children to scatter my ashes in that beautiful place where my soul will rest, and Mom looks over me with an outstretched hand.
Mike 2026
Mike 2026
Mike 2026
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