“I know Bubba. I know. “
Oscar, AKA Bubba, stands in the doorway as if reading my thoughts. Yes, he may be a Border Collie, but it is as if he knows something is just not right.
For days I contemplate writing. Something. Anything. Yet my words fall short and fragmented.
The days are abrupt and long.
We found out the cancer made it to his shoulder bone. Not a surprise.
Your hands cup your head as if it cannot hold the weight alone. Pain relief is a pill and a pillow away.
I haven’t seen much of you the last couple of days. Family left for home, and your eyes have been closed ever since. It seems the energy extended has left you without reserves. After Hawaii, it took five days to see your gaze again, outside of a glance here and there before closing. I hope it won’t take that long as I feel our time is short.
I haven’t mentioned much about the trip except I cannot say with authenticity that it was worth it. At least not yet. Guilt accompanies this statement. Maybe because my hope was something entirely magical, all pain diminished, energy restored, and every thought and moment illuminated with the intense clarity of a new high definition TV.
Maybe when the pics from the photographer arrive, I will see with fresh insight.
The flight home made me tense as I struggled with turbulence over the large body of blue. The flight there was similar. Reminds me of Tom Hanks and the movie, Cast Away, waiting for the crash and wondering why I didn’t pay close enough attention to the attendant when instructions were given about the location of my flotation device.
Anyway, on the ride there my mantra went something like this:
Calm the air Lord. I know you can. Calm the air Lord. Smooth it. PLEASE LORD.
I hate having the fear of flight over bodies of water. Still, I refuse to allow it to get the better of me by keeping me land-bound.
Anyway, as the choppy air surfaced early on, my mantra was replaced by something different:
Please God, cradle this plane close to your chest.”
At my petition, the choppiness became calm.
I’m not sure if the air actually smoothed itself out, or a peace from within smoothed the anxiety away.
After we landed in Los Angeles, my girls mentioned the turbulence was bothersome to their slumber. I mention that I recall the flight to Hawaii being much worse
“No mom, that flight was worse,” one of them remarked.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s not the surroundings that necessarily change, but the realization of His nearness in the midst of adversity, holding us close, that results in the peace we so desperately covet.