The Great Fall

Twenty-two years ago, this day was a Sunday too. This was the day my father, like a great giant, fell. Not from a tree, like he had years before that, surviving in traction with a broken pelvis. This time he fell from bed, knocked still by a blood clot; still, except for one hand, gripping an aspirin. None of us thought he would stay down. But three days later, his eyes told me goodbye.