Copies, Originals, and the Quiet Ways We Hold Each Other Together
Every one Has a Mom and Dad
Walking, Reading, Praying, and the Quiet Work of Staying Human Blog Post – by Nigel
There are stretches of life where everything feels braided together — the walks, the books, the prayers, the conversations with neighbours, the hospital scares, the small kindnesses, the art we carry home. Lately my days have felt like that: threads crossing, tightening, loosening, making a pattern I’m only just beginning to see.
I’ve been walking more — with Mom, with Dixie, with whoever crosses my path. On one of those walks my neighbour and I got talking about storytelling. He said all stories come from fiction. I told him I’m a non‑fiction guy through and through. I rehearse my grade‑nine mentality sometimes, that stubborn streak of “I won’t humour doctors, folklore, or villains.” I read real things because real things shape me. Real things steady me.
And lately, real things have been heavy.
I’ve been asking people to keep us in their prayers. Dad told me I needed to ask the right way, so I’ve been trying — asking Jesus to come into my life more, reading a religious book out loud, letting the words settle in the room. My reading list dropped to thirty books this year, way behind where I wanted to be. I don’t complain about it to anyone; I just message a few people on my social catalogue and keep going. I did read Project Hail Mary for fun this month, and it reminded me that even fiction can steady you when you’re tired.
Kim and I went to see Odysseus. She humoured me by going, even though she was already worn thin. The next day she got choking news, and by evening she was in the ER with a migraine. I was at work, distracted and worried, wanting nothing more than to drive to the hospital and bring her home. Her parents stepped in — thank God for parents — and I was asked to make supper and wait. Pork chops and rice. I’m not a fan of minute rice, but I made it anyway. Sometimes you cook the thing you don’t like because someone you love needs you steady.
She came home, waved from the porch, tired but safe. That wave was enough to settle something in me.
There’s been art in my life too — a painting I bought for my sister, made by a friend who sees the world in colours I don’t always understand. I had dark thoughts at first, worrying the original might get wrecked and only the copies would survive. I asked for three copies, and the artist noted it on the original. The original stays with him; the copies travel. I like that. I like wondering where they’ll end up, whose wall they’ll hang on, what quiet rooms they’ll warm.
Art, copies, originals — it’s all part of the same thing. We make something, we share it, and we never really know where it goes or who it touches. Maybe that’s the point.
So here’s where I’m at: walking, praying, reading, cooking rice I don’t like, worrying about the people I love, and finding comfort in small things. A wave from the porch. A book read out loud. A painting that travels farther than I ever will.
If you’re reading this, I hope you find a bit of comfort today too. Life falters, but we’re still innocent in the ways that matter. We’re still trying. We’re still here.
thankful for our parents in our life in this journy
Great 👍 C
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