I WONDER HOW THE WIFE FELT ?

A WALL FULL OF MEMORIES

by Anonymous

My father had grown old. He would often take support of the wall while walking. Gradually, his fingerprints started appearing on the walls—marks that silently told the story of his growing weakness and dependency.

My wife didn’t like this. She would often complain that the walls were getting dirty. One day, Father had a headache. He applied oil to his head and again used the wall for support, leaving behind faint oil stains.

My wife got upset and scolded me. Frustrated, I turned to father and harshly told him not to touch the walls anymore.

He became quiet. I saw pain in his eyes. Though I felt ashamed, I remained silent.

After that day, father stopped using the wall for support. But one day, he lost his balance and fell. His hip bone broke. Though surgery was done, his body couldn't recover. Within a few days… he left us.

There was deep regret in my heart. I could never forget the look in his eyes—or forgive myself.

Later, we decided to repaint the house. When the painters came, my son—who was very close to his grandfather—insisted that the portions of the wall with Grandpa’s fingerprints should not be painted over.

The painters were kind and creative. They promised not to erase the marks. Instead, they painted beautiful round patterns around them so that the prints became part of the wall’s design.

And so it happened. Gradually, those marks became the identity of our home. Guests would often admire that part of the wall, unaware of the story it told.

Time passed. I too grew old. One day, while walking, I needed to support myself on the wall. I hesitated, remembering what I had said to my father — and tried to walk without support.

My son was watching. He immediately came and said, “Papa, please take the support of the wall — you might fall.” And then my granddaughter ran up to me and said, “Dadu, hold my shoulder instead!”_

Tears rolled down my cheeks.

I wished I had done the same for my father… maybe he would have been with us a little longer.

They helped me to the sofa. Then my granddaughter brought her drawing book. Her teacher had praised her latest painting.

It was a drawing of that wall — the one with Grandpa’s fingerprints. Below the picture, she had written:

“We want every child to love their elders like this.”

I went to my room, whispered a sorry to my father... and cried a lot.

One day, we will all grow old too. If you still have elders in your home, care for them. Love them. Respect them.

*And teach your children to do the same — by your example.

P/S 1: This story touched me deeply. I wanted to share it with friends who, like me, are entering the age where we begin to say goodbye to the previous generation and ourselves.

P/S 2: I wonder how the wife felt ?

The similar regret I am feeling over busy-bodies who used to interfere or forced themselves into my family affairs ever since my marriage that mostly led to arguments with my late wife....😔