sitcom

It was a stupid TV sitcom and it made me cry. It wasn’t so much that George was dying. It was that he was alone and he was afraid. He tried talking about it, but not really. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, even if he had an idea. I’m older, now. My parents are dead. My children are grown and gone. My dogs are with others. I adopted out my cat, too. And I feel that same thing, a little. But here was the thing, too. George had a quiet dignity about him. He had courage. It was almost beautiful, he was, and I only say almost because it was, after all, a TV sitcom. It shouldn’t’ve been that good. But it was.