By Clay Fulghum
Nothing fazed him, they said.
He didn’t care (it seemed) that his dog got killed, or that his lovely wife ran off with a family friend. But then his son—an only child—became extremely ill, and his despair was obvious to all. Suddenly (to everyone’s surprise) he loved the raucous calling of the crows, the tender sprouts of spring. Tears in his eyes, he yearned for his long-lost wife, his gentle dog—and (finally) showed his heart. Until the very end he nursed his son, and mourned him forever after.
What’s wrong with him, they said. He should move on.
Leave a Reply