Green door

This week I've been making an effort to go out walking. Every night we've been out walking. As I head back to my house and see my front door and think about the connection between a door and my father. It is painted a green color which isn't quite hunter green and not quite emerald either.

While we were building the house I originally wanted to have the door green but later down the line I wanted the door to be a burgundy red. Well that never got communicated to the painter. I remember the day that I came to see the house and the door was green-- I was disappointed. Passionfruit wanted to make them change it but I told him no. It wasn't that I disliked the color. So I told Passionfruit to leave it.

A few weeks after we moved in the the house my father died. I got the call and hurried to my parents house. We all got to say good-bye to my dad. We waited for the funeral home to come and get my father. Two men came and went back into my father's room with a gurney. I remember we were all standing around the end of the hall as they rolled my father's body pass. They had wrapped his body in a blanket. That blanket was green. It wasn't quite hunter or emerald green. I remember telling my sister-in-law that the blanket was the color of my front door.

So now, I think of my dad when I walk up to my house. It's a nice, comforting thought. And I don't think I will ever have a red door. Green suits me just fine.