It is September and summer will soon be over. There are quiet days when time seems to come to a stand-still, but then there are also days when the winds of fall are picking up. Slowly colors are changing, the days become clear. The haze and heat of summer is gone. Tourists are now fewer and only a few more weeks will pass until restaurants and facilities will close for the winter ahead. It's a time for some melancholy and deep thinking.
Just a few days ago I lost my Dad. At 93 he has had a long and eventful life. Gruesome were his young days when he, along with thousands of young men, was forced into a merciless war. The pictures of death and destruction burning into his memory. The term PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder, had not been invented yet, but what do I know? Did he have bad dreams after coming home? He never talked about it. Yet, he had detailed memories about where he had been posted, where he was shot at and certain people he met along the way.
At 93 he surly was between the last survivors of WWII. After mother passed away in 2012, he lost the spirit of life. His days became dull and senseless. There was little left to live for. It's one of those moments everyone is dreading.
There also came the moment he couldn't care for himself anymore. So he moved into a nursing home, where he spent his last years. Dad had no medical issues. He died of old age.