Friday, January 15, 2016


A couple days ago, I'd stopped with bink at her dad's apartment, which she's cleaning out, and there I spotted on a chair a shirt  whose color matched that of a ripped jacket I'd volunteered to mend for M., a fellow regular at the coffee shop. 
bink said I was welcome to the shirt.

Even though half the jacket front was shredded, 
M. told me he likes to wear it to do maintenance work and he didn't care at all if the patch matched. 

You can see the plaids are way different sizes >
but the colors are close.

bink's back at hospice with her dying dad again today, and this morning I gave the mended jacket back to M., who declared it "perfect!" (I believe him by his smile.)

Sad to say, one of the things that's so hard about being with bink's dad as he dies is that he was, frankly, one of the most selfish people I've ever encountered.  
His dying, while mercifully peaceful, physically, is rather bleak, emotionally. 

I find it a bit of grace that his shirt, at least, serves to mend a rip.


Zhoen said...

I keep thinking about my own father's death, although I was spared, I was also denied. Serves as final proof that what I felt, that I was not loved, was the simple truth. And that it had little or nothing to do with me. So freeing.

Taking what a selfish old man leaves, and turning it into good, that's grace.

ArtSparker said...

Love that you are the village mender. Have you ever seen one of the old crazy quilts? I had one that a woman had essentially signed with what appeared to be self-portrait of herself hefting a tankard of beer and leading a parade of three other odd characters. One would like to have know her.

Fresca said...

ZHOEN: I feel similarly about my mother's death---suicide means I was maybe spared going through a long illness with her---but also denied that, with whatever grace might have come with it.

SPARKER: Neat! Can you send me a picture of that self-portrait?