Can manage to do a little bit, everyday

As I walk through the new snow, splashed and sprinkled in different spots all around Boulder, I think about how long my footprint is going to be in the last spot I stepped today. Will it be there later? Tomorrow? Will some of the shady spots preserve it even when the sun comes out?

I don't know. It's the uncertainty that death might feel like for most.

My mother's uncle Don died last week. His funeral is today. I was going to go, but instead, I'm making footprints in the snow, thinking about what time I should catch the bus.

I didn't know my mom's uncle that well. I do know that he fought in Korea, was partial to German cuckoo clocks and drove a bus for more than 30 years around Colorado.

I know that he seemed happy on the few occasions that I did see him. He seemed finished. Not finished like washed up; finished like he was done with a good book and ready to think about it.

And, as I look back at the small trail I made in the snow, I think about what I'm going to feel like, look like or be like when I'm finished with the good book that might turn out to be my life.

No selfish, shameless plugs for myself here. Just an admiration for a man I never really knew, but closed a chapter in my mother's heart.