Love Looks Like This
This is Fernando.
I just met him outside of Starbucks.
He’s a sweet gentle man.
He grew up in Italy during WWII under Mussolini and is shocked by what’s happening here. In America. His home for the last sixty years.
Beautifully though, he’s waiting next to me now as his wife shops next door. They just celebrated their 64th anniversary and he told me to make sure I find a good one.
He also told me that he used to be a carpenter but broke his back on the job and had a big surgery in 1995.
He misses work terribly. He misses being able to do things around the house.
“I used to do everything,” he said with a thick Italian accent. “Now I can’t do nothing.”
He sat there silently for a moment. Then he took an audible breath, looked out into the distance, and smiled. He said, while still looking out passed our immediate surroundings, as if there was a movie camera out there waiting to catch his last lines, “But we thank god for life.”
And then, of course, he told me about his grandchildren.
pick up my books here: