Barefoot Sermon in Blue Flannel
We met God on a sidewalk in Poughkeepsie on a cool fall morning. His feet were bare, his body wrapped in a blue flannel sheet. My husband and I helped serve hot breakfasts on paper plates, 207 in all that day. I lifted the 138th plate and said, gently offering, “Would you like some more eggs, sir?” He raised tired eyes, tender as dawn, and murmured, with bruised lips: “No, thank you… the others still need to eat. » In his hunger, he showed us what love is: calm, altruistic, lasting, without limits. — Karen Dipnarine-Saroop
A balm for dark days
I’m a night owl through and through. Left to my own devices, I’m addicted to endless content and trapped in labyrinthine dilemmas. My thoughts are like oil, or rather its combustion, twisting like smoke in the void. I thought it would never change, but since we fell in love, I’m happy to wake up at dawn with you. Like blue-purple morning glories, you rise with the sun. For me, you are the sun. The rays of your smile warm and comfort me, radiating energy to face the new day. I wrap myself in you in anticipation. — Amy Wu
Its caller ID
Feeling shaken, I anxiously called my wife. “My childhood home was bulldozed. » My best friend lived next door. Our yard in Beaufort, South Carolina led to a creek. I broke my arm there and learned that even painful things can heal. From Durham my wife learned this; shared my grief; told me that most of their places of origin are memories. We talked some more until I could restart my truck, regain my emotional balance. “Let’s talk again tomorrow,” she said. At the end of the call, it was not his name that lit up next to his number, but the word “Home”. — Frank Hyman
The music of the sea
After dinner, my grandmother, Eleanor, sits at the piano. She forgot my name and hers. She strains her narrowed, bright eyes to read the music in front of her, but can’t. But suddenly, like waves crashing on the shore, “By The Sea” by George Posca floods the living room. The notes flow perfectly from his memory, cascading through the French windows, the breeze carrying them towards the Atlantic. My family sits – frozen, speechless – in awe and reverence. Now our eyes shine with love and wonder. Alzheimer’s stole so much from my grandmother, but so much is never lost. — Abigail Wasserman
