I peer out the window as the car pulls up in front of the house, five humans tumbling out, tired and travel weary. I am weary, too. I wonder what might become of this weekend. Mere days before insides will literally be taken out, via three small incisions. That point continues to be emphasized. Three small incisions. No one has to know. But they do. I am a truth teller, truth sharer. I can’t help myself – the girl can’t help it. Well, mostly.
I keep from my friends that I am terrified of three young things in my house, onto my furniture and floors. They laugh and smile and one cries, uncertain of this under a red roof house. It’s okay; sometimes fear lives here, too. The bear is broken, and the fear is replaced by something softer, lighter: joy.
The trio makes eager, thumping sounds as they descend stairs. Their voices carry, and they like the television loud. I see their small bodies, clothed in character jammies. I remember Underoos. They happily munch cereal and watch the birds and bees. One night under a red roof under their belts, a beautiful, hot day ahead of them.
The day whirls and twirls, a burger at the outside diner, an old friend and a boy whom I once knew crawling, not talking. Now his words and thoughts roll and rock as steady as a boat at sea. His hair is long, nearly covering his eyes, though his mother’s eyes, too, that brilliant, beautiful blue. They both look at me, but, for the eyes, it’s really just like one. Oh no, I’m late! I’m late, for a very important date!
My mush mind is home again, and we dash to THE appointment. The one that spells s-u-r-g-e-r-y. There is a lot that will happen and other bits we sincerely hope not. I take a tissue, but only squish it in my hand. I d o n o t c r y. I am not afraid. It is almost here, and I am not afraid. There are marvelously beautiful people that surround me: doctors, nurses, family, and friends. They make phone calls, send beautiful cards, give giant bear hugs, write sweet comments, all brands of love to keep me afloat in appreciation and wonder.
Milestones. Triplets frolic in a fountain. A sweet boy sits on my lap. Dinner at the Country Cat. A tooth is lost. My heart is broken apart by the love of small children. We sip cocktails and eat splendid food. Drowsy adults talk until there are no words left.
Morning comes. We eat and scurry. Our caravan climbs the hill to Forest Park, vistas and trails await us. Green and lush, filled with voices of excitement and a hush that is wonder. A giant banana slug. Spiders. Ferns. Birds. We search for the letter “K.”
More hugs and a departure. The house is quiet, and we wait. Tomorrow is the day.