Dad sat at the computer last night, tense and pensive. I could tell by the grimace of his profile that he was thinking - weighing the events of the past two weeks, digesting them, working out how to get beyond all this.
"I know this sounds silly," he said. "But I can't stop thinking about it - and it's such a little thing."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Corners," he said. "Ronnie, when he was refinishing the basement - he didn't understand how to make his corner. He never could make the measurements work out because he didn't know how to make a corner." He stops and thinks, takes his glasses off and wipes a strong hand over his face.
"I was going to do that some time. I was going to go up there when I had the time, and I was going to teach him how to make a corner. I was going to show him how to do it right." He pauses, stares at the wall. "And I -" his voice breaks, he clears his throat, spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. "And I never made it."
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Corners
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3 cat calls:
It's amazing how much the little things matter. . . during times of happiness, we often realize they are the things that bring us the most joy; during times of grief, they can unexpectedly trigger a flood of emotions. I'll continue to think of you all as you remember the little things--those things that comfort you as well as those that remind you of what you have lost.
The 'I was going to' and 'I meant to' are so painful at a time like this.
Your writing conveys the emotion so well that I need a tissue.
This is really beautiful, in a completely human ohmygodiknowjustwhatyoumean kind of way. I feel for all of you...
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