cautious dance

It is amazing to discover what you miss when it is no longer there. When my grandparents visited me in Hawaii while my husband was away at school there were a few things that for lack of a better word just bugged me. I would do the dishes and turn to leave the kitchen when I would notice the coffee cup on the table. It was always the same, a cup turned upside down on a folded paper towel. When I asked Pop why he never just put it in the sink he said simply, "I know that I will want another cup later." I would take the cup and paper towel away and replace it with a clean cup and fresh napkin. My next door neighbor at the time told me on more than one occasion, "Just let it go. It is not important. One day you will wish you could see that cup on the table. It won’t be there and neither will he."
My daddy walked with a limp that got progressively worse until he was forced to use crutches. We never really paid attention as they were just a fact of life. He was a very tall man, even when he was stooped a bit resting on his crutches. I know he got bored after he was forced to retire. For a man that was always busy being forced to stay at home had to have been torture. Before he got his workshop daddy looked for things to do. He made endless lists and rearranged his car collection repeatedly. He took over mama’s kitchen, sitting on a stool to do dishes. He rearranged all of her cupboards. This drove mama crazy because she could never find anything.
We live directly behind the house that I grew up in. This meant that when daddy ran out of things to do at home he would move to my house. I remember waking up in the early morning hours to find daddy standing, leaning on his crutches, in my bedroom doorway. "Morning Curly" and I would hear the ‘thump, click, thump’ of his crutches as he made his way into my kitchen. I would take a deep breath and start counting. I knew my cupboards were next. I had to phone him repeatedly to ask where the sugar, coffee or rice had moved. He always knew exactly where it was. Now I go to the kitchen and everything is where it was the last time I looked, unless the kids were roped into putting away groceries. I still have to take a deep breath before I open the cabinets. I want to find neat orderly rows and no idea where to find anything. I want to pick up the phone and hear, "Do you need me to come find it?" so that I can say, "Yes I do. Everything is a mess. Please come help me". I want to wake up to the sound of his crutches on the tile. I want to open my eyes and see him standing there, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, eager to show me his latest organizational system.
I want all of my children back under one roof. I want to hear excited giggles and shared laughter. Now it seems that they are moved around like game pieces. One is brought in but only because another has been removed from the board. I have my oldest son back home but only for a visit. He is alone this time, except for his enormous black cat named Binx. It’s a bit like having a miniature panther stalking through the house. I love hearing Rick’s voice. It’s even nice to hear him arguing with his brothers. But Michael should be here. There is always an empty place in the room. There should be a blinking arrow pointing at that particular spot letting everyone know that "Michael goes here".
People used to ask me why we had so many children. I would just say that my arms felt empty. When Sam was born they didn’t feel empty any more. There were no obvious "spots to fill" in a family portrait. My arms and my heart were full. No one ever warned me about the "phantom pain" that occurs when they leave.
I have been feeling a lot of that lately. I try to stay busy. The yard is beginning to take shape. Ben is a real workhorse and helps me a lot. I fear that Sam is going to become a world champion "shovel leaner" if he isn’t careful. It is almost necessary to pick two stationary objects and measure repeatedly to be sure he is even moving. It is very frustrating.
I was trying to finish weeding the shrub beds around mama’s house. I was sweating from every pore and completely filthy. I was also exhausted. I told the boys that I was not going to be able to finish and I watched them scatter. Since I was already dirty I decided to go to daddy’s workshop for a while. I propped the door open and turned on the fan. I had headphones on listening to my IPOD. It is fair to say that I was in my own little world.
After about an hour the sky went noticeably dark. I did not want to have to walk across an open field if it was going to storm so I stood up and began closing up shop. As soon as I moved near the door I caught a fast moving blur from the corner of my eye. I finished turning off the lights and locking the door. As soon as I turned to head toward home I saw her. She just stood there, unmoving, watching me. She wasn’t close enough to touch, maybe twenty feet away, but I felt like I could if I reached out my hand.
I slowly took a step. Her tail flicked and then she took a step too. We repeated this little dance all the way across the field until we were in my backyard. Suddenly she stopped and looked back at me for just a second before she bolted for the woods. Then I noticed Ben and Sam standing on the deck. They started laughing. Sam said, "Dang mama, that was the biggest squirrel I’ve ever seen." The little goof.
When I went inside the phone rang. It was mama. She said, "Did you see what I saw?" She went on to tell me that she had been watching from her kitchen window. Apparently while I was "zoned out" this young doe had crept up to the shed. She had almost decided to go inside and check things out when I stood up to go home. I don’t know what I would have done if I had looked up and found myself face to face with a skittish deer inside an enclosed space.
They are becoming bolder. They make daily visits to the field because they have developed a fondness for mama’s pear tree. That is the only reason the tree is still standing. Then I remember the deer that visited right after daddy died. I like to think that somehow daddy knows how chaotic my life has become. Maybe he is telling me that it is better to just slow down, remember to breathe and take deliberate steps. After all you have to have to actually experience something before you can miss it.