dorothy.

I can’t get her out of my mind.

I am incredibly shocked by the deepness of my memory, but I am disappointed as well.  I am shocked because some days I simply sit and marvel at my ability to remember such details about the past.  However, times live these when I try to remember a person’s face and fail, I am disappointed.

A couple of weeks ago I visited a nursing home.  I don’t visit nursing homes.  I wish I did.  Part of me wants to change this and part of me doesn’t.  We’ll see what part of me wins in the end.  As of present, I wish.  Anyways, I visited a nursing home for a class assignment.  To be completely honest, when I walked through the doors of the nursing home I had no expectation to be touched or to learn something new.  Well, as days pass I find how incredibly stupid I was for not desiring to learn.  Then again, the best lessons are the ones I’m never prepared for!

The who time I was in the nursing home (about two and a half hours), I had a hard time focusing on the people there.  I honestly wanted to be done and go.  I kept looking at the time and I let the other group members take control.  I’m really good at letting others do so.

I never expected to be touched.

I guess it’s a great thing that God doesn’t work based off of any of my expectations.  I spoke about Dorothy in class today and each time I’ve thought about her today, my heart has yearned to comfort her.  Out of everything she told me, the part I keep remembering is when she told me how she’s lost her son.  Each time I remember her, my memory reminds me of the pain seen in her eyes.  This indescribable pain that only a mother (and father) can feel.  Looking back now I wish I could have reached out and took her hand.  I wish I could have silently provided comfort.

I didn’t comfort her with words, because nothing I said would comfort her.  I couldn’t possibly relate.  I didn’t comfort her with affection (I wished I had).  I wish I could go back in time.  However, I comforted her back with my eyes.  I felt her burden.  I felt the loss.

Dorothy.  I wish I could just hug her and keep her there for a while.  Those gentle eyes taught me a great deal.

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