The Orange Bracelet

 

It had been on my wrist for a solid four to five months, but today it finally gave up the ghost at the gym, completely worn through.

It was an orange braided bracelet about the circumference of a thin spaghetti noodle, or “pasghetti” as she used to call it.

She made it by weaving colored thread in a technique that gave it evenly spaced stylized knots, a lovely bit of spontaneity.

I wore it in the sun and in the rain, in the shower and while planting flowers.  Time and wear wore it out, faded and tattered.

But I couldn’t bring myself to take it off until it fell off of its own frazzled accord.  It was her’s to give but mine to cherish and protect.

Now I am no longer bound by the bracelet.  I miss the connecting thread beautifully spun between our hearts, father and daughter.

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