For Mom

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Amonda Marie Jones, 1940-2025   On November 3, 2000, my mother closed on the sale of her townhouse in Loveland, Colorado. “I’ve always wanted to live in a big city, New York or San Francisco,” she had told me, announcing her plan to move. “If I don’t do it now, I never will.” The date…

My Father at Eighty

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My Dad as an old man is a mystery. Actually, I’m not sure that’s right—or if it is, I must qualify. My father, who would have been eighty years old on May 8, is the sort of mystery that is blankness, unanswerable, beyond the reach of workaday comprehension. This isn’t the mystery of suspense, not…