He says he may be leaving soon.
His eyes weigh heavy on my heart. I order my carry-out comfort food: hot and sour soup.
They say that creativity rushes in with healing memories, seeking to repair the wound of a truth, excised upon its diagnosis: an alien malignancy.
My fortune-cookie wisdom explains that we replace our God-given faces with the faces we make of our own.
What of these new faces? Have we become experts in fashion? In finance? In philosophy? Maybe I can’t remember how I was supposed to look. Will he remind me before he leaves?
I search my memories: the lady I once visited in a nursing home. At 97, she knew all of the day’s headlines. She joked about the silliness of politicians. She loved the way we laughed.
Patch Adams: helping children retrieve their own God-given faces from the cacophony of cancer.
The homeless man to the successful entrepreneur in Wayne Dyer’s film From Ambition to Meaning: what is money? The joy of living is in connecting with each other.
Leaving–most certainly, but perhaps not tonight. His head rests comfortably. His breathing is shallow. His outstretched paw reminds me of the joy of all of our morning walks.
We leave much like when we arrived. Hopefully we have learned to love a little better.
❤ ❤ ❤