THE DOOR
I opened the door.
David didn’t hug me immediately.
He just looked at me.
Then he said,
“Can I come in?”
I nodded.
He walked inside and sat on the floor beside the couch.
No speeches.
No judgment.
No questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
Just silence.
For several minutes, we sat there.
Then David noticed the photograph on the shelf.
“Your mother?”
I nodded.
“She’d be proud of you.”
I looked away.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“How?”
“Because you told me once.”
I stared at him.
He smiled sadly.
“You spent twenty minutes telling me how she taught you to keep going when life became difficult.”
I lowered my head.
I had completely forgotten that conversation.
David hadn’t.
Then he said something I’ll never forget.
“You don’t have to solve your whole life tonight.”
He paused.
“You just have to get through tonight.”
For some reason, that sounded possible.
Not easy.
Not beautiful.
Just possible.
And that was enough.
