Wednesday, July 4, 2012


My impatient hands twisted the faux leather steering wheel; helpless anger and pity were souring my mouth as I watched my fathers soft hands grapple for the car door. Each tick of the clock is magnified and expanded as his muscles boot up like a 97 Macintosh. Gripping the door, my dad boosts his thinning body out onto the cement and shuffles towards the neon sign above the body shop to retrieve his car.
I jammed my right foot onto the gas pedal and pounded the dash, garbled yelps and sobs escaped my throat as a shook my fist at God, wanting to know why my Dad had to suffer.
These moments of exhausted self-pity always end in a flashback to a particular conversation a few years ago.
My family was at Texas A&M for my brothers graduation and my dad thought this was a perfect time to take me on a walk and tell me God had spoken to him.

He began our walk with these fourteen words:

“I was sure when I left for India last fall, I would never see you again.”
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1 comment:

  1. Just to let you know, the 'Read more here' link is broken.