Seeing pictures of Mamma when she was young makes me sad. She is lovely, her eyes are happy and full of expectation.

Why doesn’t life turn out as we hope and plan?

Why is Time so merciless, stealing our opportunities if we are not swift enough to grasp them immediately?

Why is it so frightening to reach sixty because one was once sixteen and believed that time existed in infinite supply?

Why couldn’t one know that Time moves on with ever-increasing speed and plays havoc with all things we once thought we could leave for tomorrow?