“I love you. Buh-bye.” I say to my youngest son as I put the phone down. I walk through the hall of the house I’ve lived in for most of my life, although it used to hold a whole family. For the past few years, it’s been just me and these paint-chipped walls. I love this place, but I miss my family. My wife passed just a few years ago, and my children have been out of the house for many years now. I still see them sometimes. My youngest son calls me every day. Has he called me yet today? I can’t remember. Even he has a family of his own now. His children are… in elementary school? Maybe one of them is in middle school already. I can never remember. I often joke about my memory loss, but it’s amazingly inconvenient when you can’t remember facts about your family.

I continue through the hall and step into the sunroom. The windows in this room are floor to ceiling, despite the ceiling not being very tall. There is a chest that holds toy cars that my youngest grandchildren play with when they visit me. I have great-grandchildren now, too, don’t I? Time only seems to slip away from me.

I sit down in my special chair and lean my cane against it. After so many wonderful years, I’m leaving my favorite place. It holds so many memories of my family—my children, nieces, nephews, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren. I’ll miss this place.

Although, I might not miss it. Soon, I may not even remember it exists. More and more of my memory evades me every day. I don’t want to forget my family. But I’m getting old. There’s nothing to hide about that. I joke about it with my children, who are preparing for the day I leave this Earth. And the nursing home is one step closer to that day.

There’s nothing to be sad about, though. I’ve lived a full life. I’ve watched my children grow up, and now I’m watching their children do the same. My family makes me happy, and I will continue to feel happy.