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bar and stools, were open to each other. I sat at the bar while my husband and his mother sat at the table. Pat asked my husband if he'd nail a brass title plate to the frame of a picture hanging by the table. The picture depicted a desert scene, with a small pool of water and an old wagon laying on its side. She took the picture off the wall. Sitting together on the floor, mother and son and centered and nailed the plate to the wooden frame. The print's title, now hanging in our home, is "Shadowing Memories."

I decided to give them some private time. I had read a "Dear Abby" column, just weeks before, about married sons and mothers and how little time they have alone. I went to the bedroom to finish packing and to curl my hair.

When I rejoined them, Pat took us on a tour of their home. She showed us things most significant to her. From her china cabinet, she lifted a lead crystal bowl and pitcher from Poland. She described the pleasure derived from these pieces: the reflection of light on the crystal flowers, the intricate craftsmanship, and the fact that pieces from Poland were becoming hard to find.

Next, she pointed to 3 porcelain figurines of wild birds. She explained that children should be encouraged to touch beautiful things. She said the cherry wood end tables and coffee table, where the birds sat, were the 1st quality pieces that she ever owned. She valued 2 oil paintings, because they were oil and not reproductions.

Pat had never before expressed so intimately her feelings to us. I had to hold back tears. I wondered what caused the change in her. I didn't know that our relationship was drawing to a close when I was just beginning to know her.

So many memories flashed through our minds while standing outside the viewing room. We wished we could tell them how much we loved them; we wished we could tell her we understood her feelings. Instead, my husband and I turned the corner and found ourselves faced with the stark reality of their deaths.

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