Our little Miss turned five this weekend! Our celebration was nothing short of spectacular as Roxy was finally able to return to the dog park. I’ve spent the last six months curbing her little outbursts by rewarding good behavior. Unfortunately, munching on too many homemade peanut butter doggie treats has resulted in a slight weight gain. While the extra pound makes Roxy all that much cuter, she now has to lose it to fly in the cabin when we travel this summer.
On another happy note, the Son graduated with a Bachelor of the Arts in Communication. And with Magna Cum Laude to boot! Like the Grinch, I felt my heart grew three sizes upon seeing my baby’s name on the graduation ceremony program. Indeed, it was the moment that finally allowed me to exhale.
I also want to take this opportunity to offer an apology for my absence. A shout out to MonicaandNan, whose support have helped me through these past ten months. Thank you, ladies! I love you! Much like Lemony Snicket, my life has been a series of unfortunate events, ranging all the way from surgeries to the unexpected death of a family member. It has not been easy, folks, but I’m still standing.
I have missed blogging, writing, and most of all, visiting your blogs. Please forgive my absence. It has not been intentional. However, with so much worry hanging in the air, my muse took to hiding. Nevertheless, things are looking up and guess what? Summer is just around the corner and you know what that means!
Yes, another summer of blogging from sunny Spain! I look forward to getting back in the writing saddle and catching up with your blogs. I have missed you!
“Wait for me in front of the shop,” says the Significant Other before pulling out into the busy street, the smirk on his face a telltale sign that says he knows I won’t comply.
Looking around, I take in the beautiful French windows that seem to be a staple of every facade in the colorful street.
A strange neighborhood.
Strange, as in, I’ve never been here before.
The excitement of exploring every nook and cranny overwhelms me.
My senses are alert.
I can hear people doing their chores.
I can see women walking their dogs.
I can taste fall in the air–a mixture of chestnuts and hickory.
I can touch the crackling leaves that fall from the trees.
And I can smell the aroma that wafts from the little bakery called Kismet.
I feel someone grab me by the elbow. “I thought I told you to wait by the shop.”
“When do I ever do anything you ask?” I reply.
Looking up at the bakery sign, I wordlessly utter my desire to go in and have coffee.
As I sit and sip my wonderful latte, I think of the little bakery where my mom and I spent so much time this summer.
Rey’s Cafe.
A charming space filled with rattan furniture, bright light, and a wonderful array of pastries.
I close my eyes and instantly see it.
Colorful beads hang in the windows, clacking and changing color every time someone opens the door. Wine and liquor bottles fill the shelves. Jars of spices and marmalade sit side by side in an orderly fashion.
This is a place where people gather to have long conversations.
Where people sit and read a newspaper, a cup of coffee their only companion.
Where women share recipes and discuss the latest hat trend.
And where my mother and I sit for hours talking about anything and everything.
Coffee after coffee, time passes, yet we refuse to be clock watchers.
Instead, we sit huddled together, giggling as we recount funny events we’ve seen.
I smile as I remember how my mother and I labeled Rey’s Cafe “our spot.”
Our spot, which also housed “our table” and “our chairs.”
The Significant Other walks toward the cash register to pay for our coffee. Yet I’m reluctant to go. Sitting in this bakery has filled me with nostalgia of time spent in Rey’s Cafe.
I think that perhaps it was the beauty of having coffee together that made us feel this way.
Or perhaps it was that Rey’s Cafe, with all its magic, felt like home.
Do you have a favorite place that feels like home?
“Bella, do we have to go around the mall again? It seems like we’ve circled the place a dozen times and I’m starting to get dizzy.”
I sigh impatiently. “Daddy,” I say, “You’re being pushed around in a state of the art wheelchair. You have nothing to complain about!”
Little do I know that today, many years after having heard my father utter those words, the universe is going to allow me to “walk” a mile in his shoes…
The sun shines brightly in a cloudless sky. Birds chirp loudly and the smell of cherry blossoms hangs in the air. A perfect spring day. Perfect except for the fact that instead of racing off to the market as I did seven months ago, I am now struggling to get into a wheelchair.
I hear the Significant Other say, “You can do it. Slide back into the seat.” His words sound encouraging but I sense a tinge of impatience in his voice.
And just like that, I regress in time.
“I’m telling my legs to move but they ain’t listening, baby girl,” daddy replies when I ask him what he’s waiting for to get in his chair.
I tap my fingernails on one of the chair’s handles.
“While we’re young, dad.”
“You young people, always in a hurry. You wait till you get to be my age. You won’t know the meaning of the word hurry. And you’d better pray you never have to use a wheelchair.”
I feel guilt wash over me and quickly apologize.
“It’s okay, queen. I know the kids are waiting.”
Queen.
Daddy’s pet name for me.
“Bella, are you comfortable?” The Significant Other’s deep voice brings me back to the present.
“Just drive,” I say, squealing as he starts to push me down the street.
It’s the first time in two weeks since I’ve been out of the house. Breathing in the cool air, I realize how much I’ve missed being outdoors.
At first, being pushed in a wheelchair seems like a gift from the gods.
No bags to carry.
No sweat to wipe off my brow.
No worrying that my underpants are crawling into places they shouldn’t be crawling.
But then nausea assaults me. I feel it rise quickly as the Significant Other weaves in and out of the narrow cobblestone-lined streets that lead to the market. Trying to stifle the need to hurl, I close my eyes.
I see daddy sitting in his chair.
I can hardly believe that his thin frail body used to be burly and strong.
A powerhouse of a man.
A solider who survived three tours in Vietnam and was awarded a bronze star for his heroic service.
A man who served his country for thirty years and then went back to school to earn a Bachelor’s degree.
A teacher who worked for ten years in the public school system.
A father who once chased one of my sister’s boyfriends down the street with a bat.
Exposure to chemicals like Agent Orange, disease, and old age had taken their toll.
His ability to walk and be self sufficient had been taken from him.
He too had felt powerless.
Feeling my head spin, the blue sky intermingles with the pink blossoms and creates a beautiful kaleidoscope effect.
I try to take a deep breath.
I feel tears well up in my eyes as I realize I have never felt closer to my father.
Do not judge a person until you’ve walked a mile in his or her shoes.
Truer words have never been spoken.
I think of the past weeks and how difficult it has been.
Not being able to stand without crutches.
Not being able to bear my weight on my bad leg.
Struggling to get up from a chair.
Dragging myself with a pulley before I can get out of bed.
Clack, clack, step.
Clack, clack, step.
The sounds my crutches make as I drag myself around the house.
Roxy rouses from her slumber and gives me the stink eye.
I tell her she will never again hear me say that the pitter patter of her claws on the hardwood floor is annoying.
Clack, clack, step.
Clack, clack, step.
I lean my body against the kitchen counter as I try to light the stove.
I look at the clock.
It’s still hours away before the Son and the Significant Other make their way home.
I try to shift my weight.
I gasp.
I almost lose my balance.
I grab on to the plank to steady myself.
I realize I’m exhausted even though I’ve barely done a thing.
As I pour water into the French press, I realize I’m going to have to drink my coffee and eat my toast while standing next to the kitchen sink.
I curl my fingers tight in frustration and grudgingly accept that much as I try, there is no way I’m making it back to the dining room table with a plate and a cup of scalding coffee.
I cover my mouth to stifle the hysterical laughter that threatens to break the silence that rings throughout the house.
Taking things for granted.
Taking our bodies for granted.
Taking our ability to walk, talk, hear, smell, taste, and touch for granted.
What fools we are to think we are invincible.
To believe that none of these abilities could be snatched from us.
To think the time will never come whet we stop being who we are and turn into what we have become.
“You take it one day at a time, queen,” my father replies when I ask him how he does it.
Turning carefully, I grab my crutches.
The fresh calluses on my hands cushion the hard handles.
Gritting my teeth, I take a step.
I hear daddy’s voice.
“You can do it, Bella. Don’t you forget you’re daddy’s girl.”