Now

I kiss and hug my son every time I see him. My new husband too. The dogs get cuddled and loved up. Petted and exclaimed over.

Today the Lu-ster is laying next to me. Paws crossed daintily. Red collar, license dangling. White with two tan spots. There is a bandaid wrapped around her forearm. Slightly chewed. It covers a skin abrasion she has been gnawing on. She breathes evenly. With an ocassional light snore.
I smile.
Sweetness.
My son lies in the hospital bed. His beautiful olive skin illuminated on the crisp white hospital pillow. Morphine dripping through his arm. He sleeps now. No worries. The operation is minor. I breathe a sigh. Relief.
I look at my new husband and mourn the years that we lost. Grateful for our time now.

This is all I have.

Now.

I walk down the aisle with my cart. Around the corner a gigantic black puppy is learning how to sit. Barely. A sweet fuzzy lhapso pees. My cart skitters around avoids a family with two yappy chihauhas tucked into their basket. Everybody smiles.
I consider the rawhides. Nope, the girls got the runs on those. I consider the hot dog plush toy. Nope, the girls will have the squeaks out of those in under 5 minutes. Kongs? Nope. Lulu is allergic to peanut butter and Honey ate the last one.. Whole.... Ah, the rubber chicken. Bright primary yellow, red feet, goofy cartoon eyes. Perfect.

I purchase the chicken. I take it home. Four golden brown eyes light up. They are ecstatic. Tails thumping. Bodies in tune for the pounce.

Everybody smiles.

For the next 6 months there is bickering over the chicken, there is guarding of the chicken, temper tantrums and jealous rages. There is throwing of the chicken, inside, outside,down the hall,at the walls, on the bed,under the dining table,over the kitchen counters, under the couch.10am, 2 am ,5pm ,9pm . Sitting down, standing up, on the pot,on the pillow. It's the chicken. Who knew this rubber toy would last this long?

It's morning. Lulu has been sleeping with the chicken on our bed. Safely tucked under her paws. Her head resting on his belly.

Everybody smiles.

Red Balloon

She wakes up in the morning. Drinks her cup of coffee. Decaf now. Takes her pills, listens to a little Michael Buble. Showers. Gets dressed for the day and says.. A prayer.

She gets into her blue Ford Taurus and makes the short drive to the local Albertson's. Here everyone knows her as Mrs. Albert Hansen. She has been Mrs. Albert Hansen now for 57 years.
She will always be Mrs. Albert Hansen.

Today is no different than any other day. The sky is a brilliant blue. Nary a cloud. Above a helicopter buzzes by bound for the hospital. She has just an hour or two before the sun comes beating down. Relentlessly.

She looks over the display and chooses. She silently stands in the checkout line. Her lipstick still evenly applied. She pays, walks to her car, gets in and heads toward the mountain preserve.

She parks. Gets out of her car tenderly holding her purchase as she goes. Up to the mountain.
She's never climbed a mountain. Its more difficult than she realized. Yet she perseveres. After all she is on a mission. She takes breaks. She considers calling her children. She feels dizzy, unsettled. She hadn't realized she is afraid of heights.

At last the summit. A cloud floats by. A hint of creosote in the air. She can see the edges of the city. A lone hawk circles expectantly.

She talks to him. Letting him know she is alright. The children are alright. The grandchildren too. Then at last she says another prayer and releases a red balloon. She is sure he can see it even in Heaven.

IS THAT YOU DAD?

I remember the colors that Spring morning. My Dad had just passed after a devastatingly lengthy illness and I was outside on the patio with my future husband. The desert sky was a crisp cerulean blue. The bouganvillla a deep rich vermillion. The birds were happily chirping in the palo verde tree that was filled with abundant golden yellow blossoms. The pomegranate trees were in flower while the scent of orange blossoms filled the air. Yes, the air was sweet but my heart was heavy.

My father and I had always butted heads throughout the years and his death though inevitable was still difficult to bear. All the unsaid feelings, the fears, the misunderstandings, the rage, the "unlovingness" and the illness stood between us. I felt the gulf widening and new this too would not be repaired.

The night of his death I called a Buddhist friend who gently told me that our relationship had not ended. It simply had changed. In my grief and sorrow of his passing and the guilt that came with it I asked her, "How will I know he's alright? He needs to be allright now. She reminded me to meditate on that thought and to think of an image in my mind. Choose something from this earth that I delighted in that would become a sign. It could be a feather, a penny, a cloud formation. Some thing would let me know.

I thought of one of my favorite creatures. The Anna Hummingbird. In my neighborhood they are out and about most everyday of the year. In the Springtime they are especially busy. The best nectar out for the taking.. So, I thought of my hummingbird. That would be it. Dad, if you can hear me. Let me know your allright. Send me a hummingbird.

I will never forget that morning. I sat down. I sipped from the morning cup. And the most beautiful irridescent green hummingbird flew down from that Pomegranate tree. Making a beeline right to me. He hovered at my shoulder for an instant and said his goodbyes.
I love you too Dad...