We come out of the building, it is bitter cold and the wind is closing at 50 miles an hour, trees are shaking and garbage cans are rolling in the street, they had just been serviced.
I hold on to my hat, I have a bad hairday and besides that I can't get cold on the head or the darn pain will come back in a flash. Forget what they call it, think it is neuralgia....trying to remember.
I feel a hand taking my hand and helping me slowly across the street to his parked car.
He motions where the step is up and it is high. He does not want me to fall again, to be sure.
I see every pebble in the way and every branch which came down while we were in the building.
Reaching the car he helps me in and tucks my long skirt inside then takes the seat belt and locks me
in tight. I hurt my back last week and I am not able to turn just yet, he remembers and does the
buckling for me.
I am becoming emotional, he gets in the car, looks at me and asks if I am OK.
I shake my head letting the hat go for it is safe now.
I am going back in my memory bank and remember how 40 years ago I had to hold his hand
all the time. He was a moving target and wanted to see what was ahead. He was always curious about plants, bugs, moving objects. He had no fear , his mother did and held on for dear life.
Now I am sitting in his car and he had major concerns over my safety.
I love that son of mine.
I hold on to my hat, I have a bad hairday and besides that I can't get cold on the head or the darn pain will come back in a flash. Forget what they call it, think it is neuralgia....trying to remember.
I feel a hand taking my hand and helping me slowly across the street to his parked car.
He motions where the step is up and it is high. He does not want me to fall again, to be sure.
I see every pebble in the way and every branch which came down while we were in the building.
Reaching the car he helps me in and tucks my long skirt inside then takes the seat belt and locks me
in tight. I hurt my back last week and I am not able to turn just yet, he remembers and does the
buckling for me.
I am becoming emotional, he gets in the car, looks at me and asks if I am OK.
I shake my head letting the hat go for it is safe now.
I am going back in my memory bank and remember how 40 years ago I had to hold his hand
all the time. He was a moving target and wanted to see what was ahead. He was always curious about plants, bugs, moving objects. He had no fear , his mother did and held on for dear life.
Now I am sitting in his car and he had major concerns over my safety.
I love that son of mine.
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