Tell Me Again, About the Rabbits

This year has been an odd one for me because I have read much more than I’ve written. I began working down a list of the “100 greatest works of fiction.” I had read many of them, but I found two giant holes in my library: modern books and American literature. So I dove into Harry Potter, The Help, and Game of Thrones interspersed with Melville, Hemingway, and Steinbeck.

That last one, Steinbeck… he hit me in the teeth with Of Mice and Men. I respect his ability to pack such deep, meaningful characters and a heartbreaking story into 112 pages. That is genius. Most authors today seem to write for the trilogy or get so enamored with their own words that 112 pages is barely a back-story. It also hit me because I could identify with Lennie and the rabbits.

The impoverished and simple Lennie just dreams of holding a rabbit in his palm and stroking its soft fur. But he can’t. He can’t and never will. So he constantly begs George for stories about the rabbits.

bunnyTell me again, about the rabbits

The rabbits represent something of substance that a hopeless drifter has no chance of claiming. The rabbits are a thing just out of reach – a dream that could never come true. That thing we want, but cannot have.

We’ve all dreamed of things we couldn’t have. Sometimes it’s a person or a relationship. Often it is just that we want more: more money, more stuff, more recognition. More would make it better and fill the void.

Most of the things we spend our time dreaming about are material. With the right preparation, bankroll, or a stroke of luck, they could be attained. But like Lennie, the thing I want I cannot have. I want it so badly that I often feel my bones ache to fill the void.

Tell me again, about the rabbits

Labor Day Weekend four years ago brought news that Kylie’s cancer treatment had failed. We were scheduled for a five-day hospital stay; but they sent us home while they planned a new course. Because of the unanticipated time with her sisters, Kylie was thrilled. But that news marked the beginning of a downward spiral. We never got ahead of the cancer until we lost her months later.

I will never hold her again, or hear her say “daddy”, or see how she reacts to the attention of boys. I’ll never be able to see her on stage, share a cup of coffee, or walk her down the aisle. Those are things I want and cannot have. I can never have. I will never have.

Contentment is elusive when you see people all around holding their rabbits and your rabbit is but a memory.

But along with the ache that comes from wanting something you will never have comes a paradox. While I live in jealousy of rabbitful families, I don’t begrudge them their rabbits. I want everyone to have their own and joyfully hold them forever. I just want mine, too.

Tell me again, about the rabbits

And so, like Lennie, I dream. I am a drifter in this life who dreams an impossible dream about holding a thing I will never again hold. I smile, I work, I play, I have laughter and fun… and yet the allure of the rabbit’s soft fur always tugs at my heart. It’s a beautiful dream that necessarily awakens to a sobering reality. My palm is empty… there is no rabbit. There will never and can never be a rabbit.

Tell me again, about the rabbits

Lennie settles for stories about rabbits and so must I… in this life.

But I believe there is a day coming when my dream will come true… when Kylie will take my hand and show me a land of promise and reward to which no work of fiction can compare. That belief, though resolute, rarely makes the waiting here easier. I see now that this life will be difficult until that day.

But still, I will dream.

Tell me again, about the rabbits

bunny

 

My New Backpack

When I got my first job, I went out and bought a briefcase. It was nice – brown leather with the combination clasps. The problem was that I had nothing to put into it. Let’s be honest, my entry-level position wasn’t very important. I was basically a cut-up and had no intention of transporting critical documents home for late evening work. So I loaded it with old files and a few magazines to make it look like I had important stuff going on. Every morning I would plop it on my desk, turn the combination, and pretend to get things out of it like everyone else. I forgot the combination at some point and just quit opening it. Nobody noticed…

Briefcases are another one of those things like rotary phones that are quickly becoming relics of a bygone era. Backpacks have become the modern-day briefcase. With the weight of laptops it makes much more sense to put it on your back rather than lug it around. I’m very picky about my backpacks. How do you rate them? Strong straps, durable construction, roomy compartments, easy access. All of those things are important.

But I have a new backpack.

I’ve been a big lummox all my life. My first Army ID listed me as 6’ 3”, 197 lbs. Over the years, I’ve lost on one side and gained on the other. When these petite little girls started coming in my life, I loved putting them on my shoulders like a backpack. Their favorite way to get up there was to have me swing them back and forth a few times, and then arc them up and over my head until they were seated on top. I did that once at a Braves game and the whole section gasped as if I were throwing her out onto the field. Calm down, people… this is how we do things in giant-world.

DSCN0328Sometimes I would carry them two at a time on my back. It was a trick to get them up there but they could sit comfortably front to back.

I wonder what the perspective is like from someone’s shoulders. Like many childhood things, there comes a time when you are too big to get on top of another so you must look for yourself and your own height is all you get. When my girls got too big, I started carrying the family supplies on my back like a pack mule.

But my new backpack.

My new backpack is neither functional nor roomy. In fact, it has one small zippered pouch barely big enough for my phone. Still, I love it. I love it because it reminds me of when my life was whole and my family intact. It is as whimsical as the unchallenged man I used to be… before my Kylie died.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I carried Kylie on my shoulders more than any of them because she couldn’t keep up with her sisters on her little legs. When we would go to the zoo, park, or anywhere that required a lot of walking, she would inevitably hold her hands in the air to be picked up and I could never resist that smile. So I carried her. I carried her around the house when her leg began to hurt and I carried her when her body was depleted from chemo. The night she died I carried her to the hearse so there would be no stretcher in my house. And now my shoulders are empty because I can’t carry her anymore.

But maybe there’s a way…

This is my new backpack.

It’s a penguin because Kylie loved penguins. I have carried it around the zoo, the beach, and now Disney World. I probably look like an idiot… in fact I’m sure I do. But I’ve never cared much about that. You see, for some peculiar reason, when I carry it I feel like I’ve got my little girl on my shoulders and she can see things she might have otherwise missed. I know it’s stupid, but lots of things in life are stupid and most things about death are, so I’m just going to carry my penguin around.

If you’re on vacation somewhere and see a big, dopey guy with a little penguin backpack, stop and say hi. I’m not as crazy as I seem, although that is debatable.

The way I see it from up here, I’m just sharing life with my baby the only way I know how.

Photo Oct 11, 5 43 29 PM