Early spring sunshine, double doors open to the air. Wheelchair at the edge splashed with hot rays. In and out of sleep he rests. I keep watch as his son scampers around the pond clipping and cutting. The son brings in a big bouquet of apple blossoms and daffodils and puts them under his fathers nose. Sniffing the scent of spring he cannot explore. The trees, flowers, gardens he planted but cannot walk among. Left side no longer working. Eyes closed he stretches his right in the wheelchair with the flexibility and muscle of the skier, climber, biker he is. The strength of his muscle and the long scars down his calf from past adventures.
We all take our turn, keeping company with his courage, his heart and with his family as he takes this journey.
I tell him how that daffodils always reminds me of my daughter. How I planted them in the fall, and after I birthed her I came home with a baby in my arms and the flowers I planted were blooming. My March baby. "That's beautiful" he whispers.
His own son, (one of two) now a man cooking 'hippie cookies' for his father. He's proud to tell me "he raised him right." I can see that in each attentive gesture he lends to his father. The warmth of his heart. The son of this man who gives out to us more than he knows as he makes a passage.
Sun fading, breeze becoming chill and blustery he asks me: "What are you looking forward to?"
A question to take with me, a teaching from beautiful David....
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