The Park
Dec 16th, 2024 by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
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Since the death of my father, I made it a habit to walk in his favorite park every Saturday, something we always did together. Sometimes we had a catch, until one day his hand slipped, and the ball landed in the lake with a splash, and people chortled and pointed. That’s when I knew his Parkinson’s was getting worse. Soon after, he was unable to do the things he loved, gardening being one of his fondest.
I stood by the lake and listened to the children playing when I saw something float by.
It was the ball from our catch.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
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