While sitting at a resturant alone my eyes wandered to a waiter who was seated at a small table ripping banana leaves. The man waved me over and curiously questioned me. With a delighted grin he told me, ” your face, my son’s face’. I gave him a warm smile to show my resemblance to his son. Taken aback he said, ” but not anymore, my son is dead”. Quickly his light went dim. He put his hands over his eyes and began sobbing. A stronger man would have hugged him. He dried his red eyes with busy-work and gave me a soundless goodbye.
It was written that when we truly love someone we fear that they will stop loving us, but the greater risk is that we will never stop loving them, even after they are gone. That the love we have for them and cannot give them will heavy our hearts until a familiar smile stirs our grief and love into the same tears. And the drops wither the mountain.