The Symmetry

When my father returned from the spa where he had been recovering after the amputation of his right leg, he bent with great difficulty to straighten out the doormat lying askew, supported by male nurses who held him under the arms. Then I knew that he wouldn’t last much longer.

He’d been straightening things out all his life, and the doormat, which was now useless to him because he could hardly wipe his feet holding those crutches, reminded him that the world was following its own unbending logic. It was his last attempt to take control of things that had been obeying him all his life and that had now got out of hand.