Dad rarely missed a day of work but three months after Mom died, he retired at age forty-seven. Bobby, my brother, had recently married and I was fresh out of college. We were confused about his retirement. Being financially secure, he didn't have to work but Dad had always said that when a man stops working, he stops living.

Each year as far back as I can remember, Mom and Dad planted a vegetable garden in the back yard. It had been a few months since Mom's funeral so Bobby and I decided to go see if Dad was still going to plant.

We never understood why Dad and Mom still lived in a trailer when they could easily afford a house but Dad said they liked the wooded area and seclusion where they lived and enjoyed the simpler lifestyle.

His car was parked in the yard when Bobby and I drove up, parking alongside the dirt road in front of his trailer. Huge oaks and cypress trees were scattered about the property but there were no trees around the garden area, which was covered with a tarp.

"Look at all the leaves in the yard," I said as Bobby switched off the engine.

"Forget the yard," he said, stepping out of the car. "Look at the leaves on the car. It looks like it's been sitting there for days."

It was nearly noon and as we waded through the leaves across the yard, I noticed that all the window curtains in the trailer were drawn.

"Dad?" I called out, walking up the steps to the porch. Bobby knocked on the door and after a moment, getting no response, he knocked again as I called out, "Dad? Dad, it's me and . . ."

The door opened and Dad, still in his pajamas, motioned with his hand and said, "Come on in." He walked away from the open door to his easy chair in the living room. "I was taking a nap."

"Sorry we woke you," Bobby said as we entered, raising a brow at the disheveled room. Dad had always believed everything had a place. It was unlike him to live in such clutter. Bobby sat on the sofa, looking around the room. "Have you been ill, Dad?"

"I haven't been up to snuff lately. Just been kind of kicking back a little."

"The living room is a mess," I said, gathering newspapers.

"Just leave that where it is, Pam," he said with noticeable irritation. "It's called organized chaos. I know where everything is so just leave it be."

Glancing into the kitchen next to the living room, I saw a sink full of dirty dishes. "I can at least clean up those dishes in there."

"Look," he said, reaching for his pipe. "I appreciated it but I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

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