Questa è Enida

I wish you were there with me when I could not find parking at that huge hospital. It was Mom’s second home for over a year before her passing, you know. If you were there, we would be walking hand in hand on the sidewalk from the Soccer Stadium right up to the lobby. It wasn’t hot – so you would be making fun of my silly umbrella. It was, humidity-wise, a beautiful morning. And we could be talking about your perfect ideas of what a sidewalk should be, while I would be challenging every little idea of yours just for the fun of it. And for the fun of walking hand in hand with you on that imperfect sidewalk. I would be thankful for not finding a parking spot on a beautiful morning like yesterday morning. And I would let you know that you could borrow my right hand anytime on any sidewalk. To hold on.

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I wish you were there with me when all I could say to my KaCher was that everything was going to be all right with her and her condition. That Monchies and I were here and we would take care of her. We. Monchies, you, me. We. You would pull us both in your arms and we would have a group hug for a while. People in that medicine-smelling corridor would turn and stare, for all we care. I would be there for her as surely as you would be there for me. And KaCher could count on us for a group hug any day, whether it was a bad-hair day or a get-out-of-my-hair day. I would let her know that she would have an extra shoulder. Yours. To cry on.

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I wish you were there with me when I had to take that long walk back to the car on the same imperfect sidewalk. You would still take my sweaty right hand on that scorching hot afternoon while making wishes for some Banana Split. You wouldn’t be making fun of my silly umbrella anymore by then. Neither would I, of your perfect ideas of what a sidewalk should be. By the time we would get back to the car, you and your Banana-Split wishes would have melted. Just like my heart would, when you would open the door for me. I would tell you then, that your wishes for five Banana Splits would never be too much. To carry through.

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I wish you were there when I shifted to another medical center later in the afternoon to see the dermatologist. A visit for Kitreena and her recurring little bumps on the left arm. She could use a little cheerleader team behind her – you and me – and our little pom-pom dance, perhaps. With your hip-grinding, bum-wiggling, hand-shaking classic move. I could imagine her chuckles. And when it was my turn to get the liquid nitrogen sprayed on my ‘third booby’ skin-tag growing under my left arm, I could use some silly aging jokes from you too. If you were there. To cheer on.

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I wish you were there, yesterday, when things got too much to bear at the end of the day as I hit the home button. There to see that things got done though half as fast. There to see that the face to put on was only the brave and the smiley. There to see that the place to cry was just in the shower. There to pull me out. There to wipe my tears. There for me. There if you dare.

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Whoever you are.

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