Generous Heart
The struggle of being human is you can’t be in more than one place at a time. I have more than one place I want to be.
I want to be at my friend’s side to put my arm around her and let her cry. Let her shed every mournful tear until her sobs end. I want to be the caring listening ear when she shares her son’s tragic death. I want to listen until her voice is no longer shaken with heartache. I want to be able to hug her until she stops trembling.
I want to wipe away slowly falling tears from Theresa’s sunken cheeks. She is more than a friend — she’s family. I want to be there to sing one of her trademark songs, Calendar Girl, gently. I know she would laugh at my tragically off-key attempt. I want to be able to comb her wildly wavy locks. She would laugh when I said she looked like a cockatoo. Just to be there, so I know she won’t be alone when her time comes to move into the next chapter.
My dear friend, Jack, is fighting cancer. He puts on a brave face and goes to work to hide the torment he is battling. I want to be there when he wakes up from his fourth surgery to squeeze his hand and tell him what inspiration of hope he is.
I also need to be available in my life. It crushes my soul that I can’t be everywhere I want to be at once. I cry myself to sleep. Again.
Deep in the darkness of sleep, I hear a distant, disembodied voice, “You can.”
I visit with Marge. She soaks my shoulder with pain-stricken tears. Through a tear-drenched, staggered voice, she shares that her son suffered from mental illness and killed himself. I hug her and kiss her forehead, “I am sorry.” I glance at the clock, noon.
Dabbing tears from Theresa’s cheek, I whisper that she has a special place in my heart and how much she means to me. I quietly sing Calendar Girl, and tears well up, knowing I will never hear her sing again. The bell rang from a nearby church, announcing that it was noon.
I squeeze Jack’s hand as his eyes flicker open from the anesthesia, “Hey, buddy.”
Hearing his surgeon share that the surgery went well is excellent: “Jack, you are the definition of inspiration and hope.” I squeeze his calloused hard worked hand. I look up at the wall clock. The hour-hand and minute-hand both pointed to 12 o’clock.
Then darkness. The voice spoke again, “Only in eternal sleep can you be in more than one place at a time. You generously gave your last heartbeat to share unconditional love.”
The End
Mojha MacDowell
1/21/23
