The Apology I Made for the Thing I Didn't Say

Lydia came to dinner last night,

my elderly neighbor with

cognitive  decline.

She said she was hurt and sad

because I had said 

I didn't want her over for dinner

anymore.

Nothing could be 

further

from the truth.

Lydia is good company,

a good listener,

full of great stories.

She was crestfallen.

It must have taken a lot 

for her to tell me.

She was brave to

confront someone

who had hurt her

so badly.

"Lydia, I never said such a thing.

Never would I,"

I said.

It didn't matter. 

That was what she remembered,

no matter how many times

I told her otherwise.

It didn't matter 

whether I was right or not.

I didn't want her to think

I was a monster.

I apologized

for the thing

I didn't say.

"Lydia,

I take back what I said. 

I didn't mean it 

and 

I am sorry I hurt your feelings,"

I said.

I held her hand,

and she started to tear up.

I was forgiven, 

for something

I didn't do,

something

I didn't say.

And then 

we ate

chicken and rice.