Shortly after the Paris bombings and the aftermath of surrounding fear, the idea surfaced to offer all of us a chance to write and read about fear out of the Apple Farm container. Weekly we have received someone's perspective on fear. There are still a few more to be sent.
I dropped the ball two weeks ago when I needed to make a fast trip home (from Florida) due to the health of my mother. She died on February 25. She was 94; someone who seemed to truly grow old in the Helen Luke sense of things. Still, she often said, "This is not my favorite time of life." She had a close-knit family and retained a youthful vigor that was astonishing to persons who first met her, sometimes sitting with one leg tucked under her like a teenager. When it got clear last week that her body would no longer support her, she made the decision to move toward death and decided when the moment was right to do so. The mood in her hospital room was bright, even joyful. Those close to her would say, "You are not afraid, are you?" She would respond with twinkling eyes, "I am not afraid. I don't know how it will be. And I wonder if I will find those I love. But no, I am not afraid."