My elderly neighbor, Mr. Dalen, asked me to buy plastic chairs with holes in the middle for his yard. I couldn’t find those exact ones, so I got regular chairs instead. He seemed upset but didn’t say why.
Later, he explained the holes were for rainwater to drain—he and his late wife Nadine loved sitting outside in the rain, and those chairs kept them dry. It wasn’t just about chairs; it was about holding on to memories.
When Mr. Dalen fell ill and went to the hospital, I searched everywhere and finally found the exact chairs. When he returned, seeing them brought quiet comfort—rain falling gently through the holes, coffee in hand, and memories alive again.
Sometimes, the smallest things carry the deepest meaning.
