The Last Zucchini
It was a beautiful day at the end of the summer, the day I picked my last zucchini. I started the morning by paying my respects to a dear friend upon the death of his father. The man was 90, had a great life, lived independently to the end, played golf, and bowled regularly. He had sons and grandchildren who loved him. It mattered that he had a good life, but now he was gone. I cried when I approached Richard. I thought of my father.
Richard said, “I am retiring next week and I was going to have more time to spend with him.”
So sad. Next week, always next week.
“When you have a good one, you want them around forever, no matter how old. You always want another cup of coffee, another ball game.”
I miss Dad. I wanted another cup of coffee and a game. I had more things to say.
I picked the zucchini before it was fully ripened because it had little time left. Fall was near. Winter was coming.