Hi Baby! I know I have been neglecting our diary but now I feel you moving around all the time. You are quick to communicate to me when I do something that discomforts you.
It is so tiresome as all the nosy people (concerned… they claim) question if I am actually pregnant but I feel huge. I am already using the elastic band on my buttons to give us more breathing space and of course to keep my skirts and pants from falling off. At work, Mirian asks me if I am having a cricket – Spanish humor, obviously.
You don’t like it when I overeat – you must take after me in that I am fine till I take that last bite, then I go in to uncomfortable crisis mode. After I eat you move around a lot, trying to find a snug space to relax.
Lately I have been thinking how smart God is. It is so good for a mother to carry a baby around for nine months, all the while massaging and nurturing it, as it develops in to a little person. Pity the unwanted babies who never receive the tenderness and love they so richly deserve. The other night we were watching one of those horror Sci-Fi movies and the star was impregnated and gave birth after 28 days – how much bonding can take place in that short a period? At first she thought her baby was a monster that she must destroy, but being a good North American the Good Guys always win movie, she discovered she did indeed cherish her baby in the end. It gave me pause. How could I destroy what I struggle daily to protect. As with every Lady in Waiting, I long to see you, hold you, bond with you.
YourDad is home from the hospital, all full of hope because his diabetes is regulated (again) – please don’t ask how many times you fall “off the wagon” as a diabetic. Then, son of a gun, today, I felt this brief but ripping pain – I race to the bathroom –oh, oh, break through bleeding . Your Aunt Who Taught Me Most The Things I know claimed she ever experienced such a thing with Matthew – how comforting is that? Over the years I swiftly learn how perfect her three children are and I am not being facetious – you Baby are a bit more of a challenge in conception, in birth and in life.
She and Grandma advise I call our doctor who is “off” that night – he is probably across the street at the Old Folk’s Home where he ministers to them medically and psychologically so I am talking to a disinterested Answering Machine Service who to her credit passed the information on because an intern called back in ten minutes, telling me that they are trying to locate Dr. D.
January 22
Your Dad comes with me to see the good doctor. The doctor seems to think I lost weight although I feel like a balloon is being blown up in my tummy. He gives me stronger vitamins, lectures me to take it easy and worriedly sets up an appointment for me to get an ultrasound. I go home and call your Grandma and my sister, Matthew’s Momma. Apparently they had a meeting of the minds because they told me not to take any more baths – just take showers. You must understand, the list of what I should not do now that you are on board, Baby, grows as problems rare their ugly heads.
January 26
The day of our first ultrasound dawns, Baby. The night before, sleep escaped me as I pondered every possible “what if’s” – if you were missing a limb, if you were missing a vital organ or more importantly, it was all a big mistake and my womb was as empty as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. I followed the rules, drank my six glasses of water and kept my legs crossed, all the while trying to concentrate on everything but my full to tipping over bladder. Surely this can not be good for you, Baby. I felt you reacting negatively as pain develops on both my left and right side. I swear I gurgled as I walk. Please, please, please God, let the unconcerned staff take me in on the time of the scheduled appointment.
Finally it is show time for you and me. The technician took one look at my lack of belly and can’t believe I am suppose to be somewhere need 16 weeks pregnant (from date of last period). The technician pushed the wand in the cold gel, then slid it across my tummy and there you were, a grainy image of an alien- tadpole, a feisty little survivor, such a mind blowing relief after all the worry I have conjured up, especially in the past weekend. As the wand moves, you deek and dive, already an entertainer – the technician nicknamed you, “Jumping Jack Flash” because of your constant motion, as you successfully avoided her magic wand.
In order to get a better look at you, the technician tells me to partially empty my bladder – no kidding, I knew there was too much water in there. And so you contently fell asleep, now that the pressure is lifted. The technician probes and prods you rudely and you woke up and took off again – flailing your tiny arms and legs in desperation to get away from that relentless wand. The ultrasound was over. I am told you are fine. I dressed in a hurry and rushed out to tell Dad (in those days, dad’s had not yet pushed their way in to ultrasounds). He made me repeat over and over all your antics. But it seemed to tire us out, Baby. That night we went to bed at 8pm and slept like the proverbial log.
January 29
It is the weekly scrub the floor and vacuum the entire house night. I “getter done” and rush over to the nearest couch to catch my breath. And you communicated for me for the first time. Somewhere on my lower right hand side I felt your first bonafide movement. It was like the gentle scratching of a new born kitten. What an awesome feeling!
The wee hours between midnight and sun rise. Although we had gone to bed, I laid awake listening to your father breathing heavy and continually choking. I slide more pillows under his head to ease the loss of breath and lay silently, straining to hear The Pretty Little Dutch Girl creep silently upstairs to her bedroom, although usually she hits a stair that creeks, heralding her “better late than never” arrival. Obviously she broke curfew, again. Will we ever be able to have faith that she will meet commitments or am I just making too much of an itsy bitsy “because we said so” rule, which teenagers routinely thumb their nose at?
As we laid there, no sleep for the wicked, I felt a pity party descend upon us. “Why us?”, I asked the black night, our Guardian Angels, the Good Lord and all He commissions, “Aren’t pregnant ladies suppose to catch a break every now and then? I always knew believing in fairytales and happily ever would catch up with me someday – too bad it had to rain on your parade as well, Baby”. Finally, I hear The Pretty Little Dutch Girl stealthily open the front door, then the familiar creek of the stair – I am definitely not having that step fixed. Praise God. She is home. Now God, some sleep, please for Baby and me. Thank you. Amen.
New Year’s Day evening – although everyone laughs when I say it, I am starting to feel fat and bloaty or did I eat too much supper, ya think? My long hair has uncontrollable tangles – years later I will admit that there are two things in life I can’t control, Baby – you and my thick, unruly hair. And I got the pity party down to a fine pitch – I feel sorry for you, I feel sorry for me, I feel sorry for your Dad, The Pretty Little Dutch Girl and even her parents.
All the while, Baby you and me share this secret world. You will be the closest living thing to me ever… which means you feel my fears – share my pain and joy. I eel a blinding love for you. Sometimes I still can’t believe you are tucked in there somewhere so I rub my tummy, now starting to present a noticeable bump. I feel an uplifting, mindless joy but being the worrier I am, question – will I be a good mother – an adequate mother or heaven forbid… a bad mother? Does every pregnant woman question herself or are some born without eyes to see, ears to hear and minds to worry? I’m thinking, isn’t it a bit too late, at this point to worry?
January 3
Hold on tight, Baby. I am sneezing (like crazy horse, as Bruno (a General Manager at work later on in my life would claim – an old German saying), due to some allergy to mold or dust or only God knows and He is not telling. I fear you will come flying out of my nose or belly button, so batten down the hatches. Since a cousin of mine took allergy pills while pregnant and had a still birth, we are just going to weather the storm, you and me, ok?
I made delicious French Onion Soup, thick with cheese and garlic bread for supper but it did not agree with you or me. Live and learn, live and learn.
January 9
A week has passed but it seems like a month’s worth of stress. We are going through a bushel of tension at work since my friend Lee decided to hang up his keys and wander out in to the unknown. Of course the GM and AGM fell in love with this Princess Di look alike, meaning the rest of the office staff were dead meat. I was chastised for actually checking out her previous employment, (uh… am I not suppose to as the Human Resources Manager per my Job Description) wherein I was not given a very good reference. But over time someone new came along, her honeymoon ended and she gravitated towards ‘making nice’ with the rest of the staff, in order to make it through the work week. Been there, done that!
Your Grandma is on my back, insisting I do not eat enough to feed one, little own you and me. Bless her heart! Then there is your Dad to deal with. He has decided he doesn’t want to take insulin – you would think we were trying to get him hooked on heroin (Dr. Fred Banting is turning in his grave, at such foolishness). More worry for you and me to contend with, as we keep a stiff upper lip. Thank God we are brute strong and fearlessly tough.
If my frantic life will contribute to your personality, I expect a whipper-snapper (say what), a very smart boy! Uh, did I say boy? Now the secret is revealed between you and me. All along I have just had a feeling you were a boy – not that your sex is important to me – as a matter of fact, having had so many sisters, I know girls and their tricks, like the back of my hand. I am sure you will have lots to teach me. Anyway, it is just a feeling, you know.
We are in our new home. We had arranged movers since all that carrying and lifting is not so good for a pregnant lady, with a history of infertility, especially in that first trimester. No one could tell I was pregnant by looking at me so the movers were always asking me to move thing. I finally cut them short by telling them, “Uh, that’s why we hired you guys.” After all, your Dad was in the hospital, The Pretty Little Dutch Girl looked like the last rose of summer (till the sun went down, when she managed to perk up and even go out) so you and I had all the unpacking to do. Thank God you are tough but Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, I hungered for rest.
December 23
Christmas Party at work. We danced with wild abandon. I am not so sure you enjoyed it because I left with a sharp pain in my side. So sorry Baby – but girls just wanna have fun.
December 24
Your 1st Christmas Eve, loosely speaking, cradled in your Momma’s womb. Christmas Eve dinner (scrumptious home made meat pies and tender ham – you seemed to like it) was held at Grandma & Grampa’s, so that Grandpa could continue his tradition of being Santa, going from door to door, handing out goodies. I went with him, dressed in red, his helper. It was the first time I saw your Great Aunt Neva in a long time and she kind of insulted us – she claimed I hadn’t gained much weight yet and asked me if I was having a kitten. This is the first hint that maybe there is something I should worry about – here I have been praying that I have the most intelligent baby ever (I admit it, I am an intellectual snob) – maybe I should pray that you are sustainable.
December 25
Dinner at Matthew’s house. My Sister Who taught Me Most of the Things I know had to serve 21 today which required 3 tables, in 3 rooms, set as if Martha Stuart was an honored guest. Who will you pick as your favorites from this motley crew? They were all present, except your Aunt No.1 Sister and Uncle Jim. Your Grandparents, your Uncle My One and Only Brother, who sings with your Dad at the supper table, as they do dishes, wherever, whenever and his new wife, your Aunt the Queen & Uncle Denis and your cousins, Your Aunt Lady of the Lake and Uncle Gary, your Aunt Baby of the Family and Byron, our family and Matthew’s are all together celebrating Jesus birthday. I went over in the morning to help prepare vegetables, in between singing lullabies to Matthew who was feeling the effects of being off schedule. I am sure you are going to love him but know somehow you will have a completely different sense of humor. Poor Puppy Shiloh exhibited the signs of needing a girlfriend in the worst possible way, so not only had to go though the indignities of having his tail tramped on but also being shoved away sharply when he tried to do the “nasty” on a guest’s leg. I had to believe it was one happy mutt when the last guest closed the door and his life was back to normal once again.
December 30
Regular checkup with Dr. D.. We talked about your Dad, The Pretty Little Dutch Girl and scantily about you and me. He was a little concerned about me being on Inderal for my heart palpitations but will talk to a Specialist and get back to me.
Probably by now you sensed I spent a lot of time worrying about your Dad’s health. Last July when he was so sick his biggest concern was he was dying and that he would not get in to heaven because the Christian Reform had ostracized him and in their little minds you only get the call to heaven if you are one of them. Imagine how surprised they will be when they die.
December 31
Dr. D. called me at work and told me the best advice he had been given was for me to continue on the Inderal and let the chips fall – a little ominous, would you not agree? Do you get the feeling they know just about as much as me and you?
You were conceived at The Clarke House, an apartment we rented between houses. By now you may know the history of how your father and I separated so we sold the house we were living in, then he became deathly ill, was hospitalized all summer, had heart surgery (on The Pretty Little Dutch Girl’s birthday). That was the day I remembered my vows, “In sickness and in health” and realized as I held his hand in CCU, with tubes coming out of every orifice, it was our mission to be in it for the long haul so when he left the hospital, he came back home.
I remember when he first got sick. He came to see me because he had no clue what was happening to him. His feet were so swollen, his breath so short he could not walk up the stairs to the bedroom, so he slept on the couch. I called the doctor who told me to get him to emergency the next day, wherein he was held captive until his ultimate release after they had figured out he had Pericarditus (an infection of the lining of his heart). All the draining of the fluid that was drowning his heart, day after day, was not going to solve the problem.
Finally, five weeks later (but hey, who is counting?) surgery was done and your father was left with a heart, trussed in chicken wire, the lining peeled off to ensure no more fluids could flood his internal organs. The Good Doctor had teased your father that that was all he needed, surgery and 12 weeks on his back to impregnate me.
However, now we were back “on”, so we bought a new home – great timing, on my part – your Dad was still recuperating so was essentially useless, The Pretty Little Dutch Girl was a teenager with things to do and places to go so it was you and me “to it and for it”, as my Granny would have said, packing and organizing. I sent your Dad out to the horse races, with a good friend of mine from work. Later that night you and I picked up The Pretty Little Dutch Girl on schedule. Somehow, as we rushed through life I felt the strength of your will to live at all costs, even if I wore you out, on occasion. Sorry, Baby, but who is going to get it done if you and I don’t do it? Teamwork, teamwork, rah, rah, rah!
December 7
Since we have moved, we are now in a different school area and much to The Pretty Little Dutch Girl’s chagrin, (kicking and screaming, truth be told), she gets to change her school to the district we live in – leaving behind her best friends that helped her escape her home life. The Pretty Little Dutch Girl makes friends easily so I suspect she will fit in without much trouble. It is a fresh start, although her school records trail her so everyone knows all of her past iniquities.
December 11
A rather disturbing week! Of course we got to remember your Dad just had open heart surgery a scant four months ago so maybe I expect too much, but he is back in pain, with problems in breathing and more than mildly cantankerous than usual. The Pretty Little Dutch Girl throws a party downstairs for her friend’s birthday. Fire water was a party guest, brought by their guests (probably why they invited them) and her friend (aka Ralph from this point forward) over indulged and reacted like all skinny teenage girls – so there we were, you and me on our knees (The Pretty Little Dutch Girl had developed crippling ache in her side) with a bucket, stifling the urge to puke, cleaning up the party “leftovers”. Hours later at the hospital Emergency Department, we are told The Pretty Little Dutch Girl has cysts on her ovaries that are causing the pain. Hang in there, Baby. We will get rest someday, honest, I promise!
December 14
The packing is completed with the help of my amazing sisters since we always instinctively know the load each other is carrying or sometimes dragging behind us. The Pretty Little Dutch Girl’s pain had diminished but was lagging around, and since our family has a lot of diabetes, I have the strips for testing sugar in urine (a regular pharmacy, you say). Your Dad, for some reason, says, “Do me.” The Pretty Little Dutch Girl and I look at his results and are practically in hysterics, laughing so hard you gave me a stitch in my side to remind me of my priorities. Your father is not amused. Here it is 10 o’clock at night; he wants to call my mother, my diabetic sister, Dr. D., anyone that will refute the results. Alas, it is true. Dr. D. confirmed it the next day and arranged for your father to be hospitalized in order to get stabilized because of his recent health history.
Armistice Day. Let there be peace; let there be understanding but The Pretty Little Dutch Girl’s mom is in full throttle. She wants her daughter at home, under her thumb, jumping when she says how high. So a war that calls itself peace is fashioned between us, her, the shrinks, counselors, Social Workers (who we speculate have escaped from a secret clone lab before all the essential human parts were rightfully installed). My period was trying to kick start, so I felt bloaty, crampy and in a rather unreasonable mood.
November 13
We celebrate your Dad’s birthday. I noticed I was feeling very sorry for myself and not understood by anyone – I indulge in a pity party for one – not my usual “mode of operandi”. By now, though suspicious, I keep my thoughts to myself, and keep running to the bathroom to check if my monthly has come on.
November20
By now I definitely have a sneaking notion there is a “You” tucked in a safe haven of my body. I remember it was a Friday Night and I had dumped the clean laundry on our bed to fold and put away. I share the suspicion with your Dad and he is over the moon. He fusses over me, even helped put away his laundry. What is that all about?
November 21
I break the news to my Mother and my Sister-Who-Taught-Me-Most-of-the-Things-I-Know. Your uncle’s job is being transferred so they are moving back to Mississauga with Baby Cousin JAG. They are thrilled for me, thrilled for you, thrilled for themselves. Your Grandma dreams of a little girl to dress in pink but I am thinking “blue” for some undetermined reason. My take charge sister wants to bundle me off to a pharmacy for a urine test, to a midwife, better yet to a doctor for confirmation that JAG has a cousin on the way. I have a need to keep the secret a bit longer so beg off, promising I will go to my own doctor. Somehow I couldn’t bear for the doctor to burst my bubble. I enjoyed this particular bubble too much. Don’t wake me up yet, please, let me keep dreaming, at least a little longer.
November 25
Some of your many Aunties-to-Be have been tentatively alerted to the possibility of you. I set up an appointment to see Dr. D. (after work, of course – can’t miss a minute on the job, even for you, it seems), who says, giving the facts and figures, I am probably “with child,” but tells me to leave a urine sample and call tomorrow morning for confirmation.
November 26
Definitely ranks as one of the most pins and needles, clock slowing to a crawl as I wile away the hours, not making the call till 11:55am, to ensure the results are in, so I will not have to telephone back. The receptionist says, “Positive”. My whole family is thrilled while I feel tired, nauseous and totally disbelieving of the results on one hand, yet cautiously elated on the other. We only used birth control for the first six months of marriage since I had a dreadful reaction, causing my irregular glands to become even more grumpy so this day has been a long time coming…like seven years.
The good doctor wants me to come in to get started on the vitamins and also gives me a pill for the nausea . Little did I know, and not till years later when the whole world knew, the side effects it caused in some babes. You dodged a bullet that time and more along the way. Still those pills worked miracles for me! It was day from night, I could hold my head up without it going in circles and read my lips no-more-puking. Seems I could cancel the fertility tests scheduled in December.
Classic
November 29
It was your Grandparent’s 40th wedding anniversary so we celebrated at the home of my Sister-Who-Taught-Me-Most-of-the-Things-I-Know. You can see pictures of that day, all your Aunts, Brother-In-Laws, your Uncle, your Sister-In-Law and myself, with you tucked deep inside of me, lined up in a row. Since the whole gang was there, it seemed a good time to share your existence, yet at the same time, I didn’t want to take the attention from my parents’ day. However your Aunt spilled the beans, it was a secret too good to hide. As you can imagine, knowing my family, as you do, there was a lot of skepticism that we could carry it off. You got to love them.
Your Baby Cousin JAG, who would become your life long ally and collaborator was born today to my Sister-Who-Taught-Me-Most-of-the-Things-I-know. Your silly Daddy-To-Be was pea green with enough envy to choke him, while I was happy, happy, happy. It had to bode well for us, I reasoned, for no apparent reason.
October 6
The monthly curse arrives with a vengeance, dashing my fledgling optimism that heralded Cousin JAG’s arrival. No worries, I am booked to have a D&C in about six weeks time, so my state of fertility can be ascertained. I just know you are out there somewhere.
October 25
Early that Sunday morning, when the clocks fell back an hour, giving us another hour to kill before your Daddy-To-Be went out for coffee and donuts, you were conceived. I remember that day well because I actually did all the tricks the doctors advise (lingering in bed, legs elevated so sperm meets egg –I know, I know, too much information) before taking off like a whirling dervish, in order to get the list of things done, that keep me wake at night. I also remember some further trivia, I took a walk, across the street to the shopping mall, for therapeutic reasons only since no stores were open (before Sunday (gasp!) shopping). The weather was mild, though overcast with foggy patches. Little did we know what all that day would bring.
It was the day that our family unit expanded and then expanded some more, when the 2nd letter I wrote to the Toronto Star was printed. The family hiding your cousin, The Pretty Little Dutch Girl (Dad’s brother’s daughter) had a pique of conscience (or were they tired of feeding her, hiding her, worrying about her), so they contacted us. Arrangements were made that your Daddy would go to her friend’s house when The Pretty Little Dutch Girl was out, await her return and confront her. Bottom line, she came home with your Daddy and that is how you have a Big Cousin cum Sister all wrapped into one.
October 27
You are cozily ensconced in there but we don’t suspect a thing, as we go to meet up with The Pretty Little Dutch Girl’s Guidance???? Counsellor. “She is so smart”, Mrs. Warneck says (aka Mrs. No Neck – it appears her head has been plopped on her shoulders because she has no visible neck) ,”but how do we get her to come to school?” Ah, a rhetorical question that plagued us for both her, then you. I know, I know, Wonder Boy, you get bored easily, especially if you know more than the teacher.
October 31
It was your first (so to speak) Halloween – a cool, crisp, clear night with lots of star and star wars! Whatever happened to being a witch, with a pointed hat and crooked nose? Those days your Uncle was still married to a lovely lady who shared my sense of humor, even if I was a Mangiacake. We went to their home that night – your Dad and uncle were to hand out treats while the ladies took out your cousins Trick or Treating. And so I decided to play a funny on the guys. I put on a mask, got on my knees and rang the bell. (I still remember, I had on a pair of tight jeans that made it very tricky – I am so glad I don’t do “tight” anymore), When the guys opened the door, I said, “Trick or Treat” in a little girl voice – of course they did not recognize me – we laughed so hard, I thought I’d pee myself – sorry if I jostled you up a bit but I did not suspect your existence, I swear.
You want to think you know all there is to know about the other half… Knew him over 39 years…Married 38 years… Till he bought the farm… Went to his Happy Hunting Farm (not so bad a place to go… I’m thinking)… Ascended to Paradise to be surrounded with the love of his already dearly departed family, awaiting his inevitable arrival (our Comforting Christian Conclusion… well with our anything goes… we are One in the Spirit Church).
A lotta different books. Fr: Morguefile
Let’s get serious… you know your Better Half… but do ya really ‘no’ your Better Half… Time for Truth and Reconciliation… Sometimes you’re on the same page… Sometimes you are in a different book… Yet come any emergency and you are 100% on the same team, pushing that huge, insurmountable, ice laden snowball… Up the hill… In tandem… You betcha… Depend on it… In this you crystal clear trust, know and depend on your Better Half. (Oh, and if you can’t…move on)
Secrets??? ME????
You know then (death’s probably not the time for self denial… Man-up, woman-up, they-up time)…. We all have secrets… We take to our grave…Maybe even I do… I already feel my school girl blush, my whole body suffused in the agony of sweat and shame…
Judgement Day From Morguefile.com ruined_doorway.jpg By hotblack
Will those inevitable take to your grave or no one would see you the same secrets be revealed in Heaven to everyone… Or just to our Confessor(s) who has/have taken an Oath of Silence… At the threat of a browbeating by his/their Confessor… No lashes or hair shirts in my Heaven… Just higher learning to recognize the error of your Earthly Ways and Improve the Process…. That’s my theory… And I’m a gonna run with it… But you can run anyway you want because:
Death gives us Freedom, Freedom…
TheFreedom… We’re all looking for: (Paraphrase Kyrre Gorvell-Dahll / Lawrie Martin / Sandro Cavassa / Zak Abe)l
You are just dropped in to a dream, willy nilly, Act I: Scene 1, with cameras rolling.
I found myself in my childhood primary, middle and high school…all one building… in the day….at least for country folks….
I was standing in the hall, first floor, books in my arms, wearing a plaid skirt and ban-lon twin sweater set, carrying school books. I noticed the walls, the lockers, everything was painted a light grey green and my heart went out to the Janitor…I saw lots of scuff marks in his future. The floors were highly polished, like ready for a new school year….but everything was eerily quiet, rather than the buzz of whisper, muffled laughter, movement of students…I was standing by the Gym door so could see through the glass door Entrance the teachers used that showed the street lights were on through the glass….it was night. What was I doing, at school, at night…by myself?
Shining floor, deserted hallways. Where do you go from here? From Morguefile.com IMG_2999.JPGBy ArielleJay
I turned my gaze to look across the hall. There I saw one of my older sisters, the Queen, in a slim navy skirt, long sleeved white blouse…looked like a uniform, talking to a dark brown haired male, who had his back to me. It seemed like a general what-ya-doing-next-weekend conversation.They were both what I would call student age, also books in arms…like they fit the scenario.
When I turned my head, I saw my other three other sisters …they were no longer in their youth, definitely past student age, maybe their 30’s, all in colorful dresses…but their discussion felt like it was about me…I shoulda, coulda, woulda, the kind of talk sisters engage in that have no answers and no solutions…and they were all older than me…and they were all correct, I shoulda, coulda, woulda but I didn’t… so I was not interested in joining in the parsing…My Itty Bitty RIP Baby Sister would understand…She always had my back.
My 4 sisters and brother that disappeared before my unbelieving eyes….in their younger years.
I turned back to my sister, the Queen, who was with the male student, called her name and they both turned…I then realized…it was my brother. Just as I took a step towards them, they transformed, before my eyes into air bubbles, and dissipated in to the hallowed halls…huh???
Okay, I’ll go talk to my other three sister, tell what I just experienced. Once again, 1st step forward, they turned to look at me, then also transformed, before my eyes into air bubbles, and dissipated in to the hallowed halls.
Icould hear, but not see, sneakers slapping the hallway floors, (nor could I see the person wearing them), pounding past me, as if his life depended on it. I called out to him, the Unknown, ‘Did you see where my family went?’ He replied… ‘Right past you, in the Gym.’
All is calm, all is bright.
I had apparently reached the TwilightZone…I could no longer believe what my eyes revealed. Not convinced that I missed five family members, I never the less took the advice of the Unknown and went in to the gym…but it was empty…no one, nothing, nowhere, anywhere. I slowly turned round and round in circles…had I missed something… and there was a short fat Christmas tree covered in multi colored strings of lights, twinkling, casting rainbows on the garland, ropes and Christmas balls.
Could my family be teasing me, hiding under the tree…I mean, I am no engineer or magician, but how could 5 people hide under, in, through that tree?
Gamely I got on all fours and looked but saw no feet … instead I spied what looked be a three foot Clown Roly Poly weaving round and round as it made its way to the front of the tree. I instinctively put my hand under to haul out the Roly Poly for a better look and in a flash I was grabbed firmly with what seemed to be short flappy wings, hauling me under the tree, out of site… Gone.Baby.Gone.
And for the first time since her passing, I heard my Itty Bitty RIP Baby Sister’s voice…very firm…in charge…the boss…(like I had been to her), ‘Come on, Quite Contrary, we got to go,’ …’What…what about all of the rest of our siblings?’. In the same voice my Itty Bitty RIP Baby Sister replied… ‘It’s not their time yet.’ Over and Out. Buh Bye, World… Buh Bye. The End.
I’m awake. Inevitable questions pop into my mind:
Where was RIP Daddy and my Mother-and-Father-God-Rest-Their-Souls….Were they giving the my Itty Bitty RIP Baby Sister Baby-of-the-Family bragging rights…first big catch since death-did-us-part?
Why our school setting…maybe because it is where we went to laugh, seek fairness, learn and gain understanding about the world around us.
Why Christmas? You have to understand…. my Itty Bitty RIP Baby Sister loved all things Christmas. The love, family, friends, food, joy ….the mystery of what was wrapped so prettily under the tree, all to be revealed in good time. Did the whole idea ofa Christmas tree introduce the light I would ascend to …. that it would be no more frightening than a glowing Christmas tree, with gifts aboundinglike the amusing childlike Roly Poly….but hey folks, end of day…it’s just a dream…..
So sit back and enjoy the ride. And Rule #1: You come when called… Now you see them…Now you don’t…. Over and Out. …And I was outta there.
