He hadn’t been able to fix it himself.
So he had handed it to me.
I looked at his face in the photograph for a long time.
“I’m figuring it out,” I said quietly.
“It’s not easy.
But I’m figuring it out.”
The ceiling fan turned slowly overhead.
Josephine slept on.
Outside, the winter light held.
—
*Some people leave us carrying more than we knew.
And sometimes the weight they leave behind turns out to be something we needed to carry — not because it’s fair, but because love, even imperfect love, asks us to be bigger than our hurt.*
