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4meAndyou · F
When my father lay in his hospital bed, dying, I felt such deep sorrow. I sat there beside him day after day.
I brought my mending with me, to keep busy...and my favorite faded red t shirt was in the mending pile. It had begun to develop tiny holes all over it, and I kept trying to fix each hole. But each time I would handle the shirt, another hole would appear. I realized then, that the fabric itself was made of rotten threads, and it couldn't be repaired.
My father was like that shirt. He was so deeply damaged inside that no one could repair him...and the more they tried, the worse it got.
I realized then, that a message was being sent to me along with my futile attempts to mend my shirt. Some things can't be mended. All we can do is mourn their loss.
I brought my mending with me, to keep busy...and my favorite faded red t shirt was in the mending pile. It had begun to develop tiny holes all over it, and I kept trying to fix each hole. But each time I would handle the shirt, another hole would appear. I realized then, that the fabric itself was made of rotten threads, and it couldn't be repaired.
My father was like that shirt. He was so deeply damaged inside that no one could repair him...and the more they tried, the worse it got.
I realized then, that a message was being sent to me along with my futile attempts to mend my shirt. Some things can't be mended. All we can do is mourn their loss.