“My parents, “ I thought as I opened the screen door and prepared to unlock the front door.
I turned and looked down the street toward the cemetery. Memories came flooding back as I thought about how every day, after school, I would walk past the cemetery where my parents were buried. Some days I would visit the grave site and other days I would just stand at the gate and look in. I would kneel down, at the grave side, and tell them how my day went or what my plans were when I grew up. Wiping away the tears and swallowing the lump in my throat, I unlocked the front door and entered the house.
Slam!!! Crash!!! I spun around to see that the couple of Phillip’s head screws, that were holding the last hinge of the screen door, had given way and the door was now lying face down on the cement porch. After composing myself, I set the screen door against the side of the house and then prepared to step back into the house. Before I was able to, some movement caught my eye.
“Is everything ok?” asked an older gentleman, who was standing in the neatly groomed yard next door.
“Yes. My screen door came loose and came crashing down, “ I responded.