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.
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.
