An Old Friend

I walked up to her door,

let myself in,

the way I had

so many times before.

I called out for her

announcing my presence,

but she didn’t answer,

she’s gotten so hard of hearing.

I moved down the hallways

to her back sitting room,

long familiar with the house.

I had spend so much time here,

talking with here,

listening to her,

learning from her.

I found her sitting

in her rocking chair,

her hands busy with her needlework.

She looked up as I walked in,

she smiled

but her hands never paused.

“You’re hurting,”

“Your emotions are

in a knot and you need some advice.”

She knew, she always knew.

Ever since I was a child

and she moved in next door

she had always known my mind

better than I did.

I started to speak

but she stopped me with a glance.

“You know as well as I do,

that what I’ll say won’t matter.

You’re in pain and in no place to listen,

I might as well whisper my advice

in a dead man’s ear.”

“You feel alone, like a looser,

like nothing ever goes your way.”

“You think you have no way out,

and nothing I can say will change that.”

With a sigh she set down her needle,

flexed her fingers a few time.

“Getting too old for needlework,

but this piece was important.”

She placed it in a box,

closed the lid and stood up.

“Thank you for visiting, but I’m tired,

I need a little bit of a nap.”

Without another word

she walked me back to the door,

we paused, her hand on my shoulder.

“Darkness comes and darkness goes,

that is the way of the world.

But remember, like the darkness

so comes and goes the light.”

With that, she pushed the box in my hands

and sent me out the door,

I heard the lock click before I could turn.

I walked back to my car,

tossed the box in my back seat

and drove away.

That night, I got the call,

she had died,

a heart attack, just after I left.

I felt my world come crashing down,

the last good think in my life

was gone.

She had been closer to me

than my own family,

and now I was alone.

Plunging into a deeper depression

than I had ever known

I left my house.

I didn’t know where I was going,

just that I had to go, to move,

to keep from feeling.

As I got into my car

I saw the box on the back seat,

I opened it.

Here was the last needlepoint sampler

she had ever made,

she had given it to me.

Just a simple flower boarder

and in the center,

three words,

“You are LOVED”

She had known, of course,

known how short her time was,

she didn’t waste it on listening

to my self-loathing drivel,

didn’t waste time

trying with words to convince me.

She had known

how bad I was feeling,

how lonely I had become.

She had known how meaningful

this gift, this gesture

would be to me.

She had known me,

she had loved me.

If she had,

then so could somebody else.

It was late to try to repay

some of what she had done for me,

but maybe not too late.

She had loved me,

taught me,

and had always wanted me to be happy.

Maybe I could be,

I would try,

for her.

Author's Note

Any comments will be gratefully accepted.