My question went unanswered. I didn’t want to tire him. No, not now. I just sat there, knowing that my hopes for things to be alright were false.

My forehead was almost touching my knuckles when I heard a whisper.

“May there always be work for your two hands to do; may your purse always hold a coin or two; may the sun always shine on your window pane…”

My heart gave a wrench when I recognized my mother’s favorite rhyme.

He was reciting it carefully, reverently, as if he were a priest, trying to describe the beauty of faith in God in a single passage, hoping to reach the hearts of those listening – hoping that the ones with barriers would yield for a moment, and bask in the warmth of companionship and community.

Papa coughed, the breath scraping inside his throat.

“May a rainbow be certain to follow every rain,” I continued, keeping the pace he set. “May the hand of a friend always be near you; may God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.”

Please, help him! I don’t…