I'm saying goodbye to the Sparrow's Perch.  Actually I just won't be writing on this blogspot any more.  I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I'm tired of writing.  There used to be a time when writing was therapeutic for me.  I used to be able to sit at my computer and write away my frustrations and aggravations, but the weight of my mother's death, and the long year leading up to it took a lot out of me.  Sometimes I think it would have been more merciful if she'd died quickly in a tragic, and senseless accident.  Instead, I watched her slowly fade and disappear before my eyes.  Now, I'm seeing the same thing with my father.  

This man who was once larger than life, amazingly strong, physically resilient, and filled with unending energy has become an empty shell with very little left of what he once was.  The recliner has become his home.  He walks slower than a toddler, and can barely get to his feet from a chair.  Dressing himself is fraught with the threat of falling or injury from moving locked up joints. He is suffering from dementia just as my mother did. He doesn't remember to take his medicine, and worst of all he forgets his insulin. All of this is familiar territory from when I took care of my mom.  The weight of his decline is heavier than I thought it would be. There isn't any joy in writing, and sadly, writing is the last thing I want to do. When I sit down to my computer I feel helpless against the ravages of time, and what it is doing to my Dad.  Perhaps, I'm feeling the pressure of time on myself.

Sometimes I wonder if dementia is the way we jettison those things that are burdens. Other times I think it is a cruel joke on those who you've loved, and still love you. As I watched my mother disappear slowly before my eyes, I would often question God's plan, and purpose. That's not to say I've lost my faith in God, nor have I changed my views on the provision of God. I still believe there is a secret place with God that we have access to by the cross of Christ.  What's changed is my need to publish my thoughts about that place.  This planet is a small little rock, going around an ordinary sun that exists on the outer rim of a nondescript  galaxy in a massive universe. There are more exotic places in the universe, but they could not be the cradle of life that we see here on our nondescript planet we call home.  Billions, maybe trillions of sparrows have flown through the skies of this earth from its creation till now. Time marches on, and our lives flow ever onward like a river to the sea. This moment will be over as I type out these words, and we will have spun ever so perceptively in our journey through this universe. What few people have sat down to read my blogs will soon pass this vale, as I am destined to. When I'm gone from this vale, my place in this universe will be remembered for the briefest of time by those who loved me, and knew me.  Perhaps they'll hold fond memories of me, but for the most part, I suspect that my mother's words will ring true; People don't think about you near as much as you think they do.  

There are many things I wish I'd done through the years, but expedience, fear, and practicality prevented me from doing them. Some of those things I'm truly glad I did not do. There is no place more exotic than home, and no place that you can discover greater things than your own backyard.  I've been to three continents, seen technological wonders that many people have only dreamed about, and been a participant in events that were reserved for a handful of men, and women.  When I pass this vale, they will be gone.  David Bragg will be forgotten, and my achievements lost to the ravages of time.  As I watched the sparrows flit, and fly from place to place, I became aware that it is only this moment that matters.  

So with that thought in mind, I will lay aside my metaphoric pen, and let my musings die with me when I pass this vale.