Learning to Drive on Streets of Gold

February 24, 2017.Reading time 6 minutes.

Okay, what’s the first thing you do when you get in the car?

Check the mirrors.

No, the first thing is to buckle your seat belt.

Oh, right. I forgot. My car doesn’t have them.

What? Even my parent’s old car had them. But nobody used them in the 70’s. I used stand in the floorboard and help dad drive. What are you driving, an old clunker?

No. It’s brand new. I don’t know what kind. It reminds me of the Barbie Dream Car we had. Only it’s bright yellow.

Of course it’s yellow… You think it’s safe?

We don’t have accidents here.

Well, I’m going to buckle up, if that’s okay. It’s terrifying the first few times you ride with a beginner.

Don’t worry, I’ve done this before.

WHAT? You aren’t supposed to be driving – you don’t have your permit yet.

We don’t need them.

Permits?

Well, permits or even cars, really. Most people walk.

But there are cars?

Oh, sure. I don’t think it would be paradise for some people without them. There’s this racecar guy who just turns donuts in the fields outside the gates like he won a big race. You’d get dizzy if you tried; like that time on the teacup ride.

Yeah, yeah. No one will ever let me live that down. How are the roads?

Perfect. What would you expect? We don’t have orange cones, a DOT, or widening projects like you deal with. They were perfectly planned ages ago.

So traffic isn’t bad?

Nope. No lights, signs, or speed bumps.

Well, I guess we will skip ahead to lesson nine if you don’t have to deal with that stuff. Any Roundabouts?

No. But you can teach me. It’s okay.

Well, the next lesson is dealing with weather emergencies. Any storms there?

No, not really.

It doesn’t rain?

Yes, it rains.

How’s the traction on wet gold? Slippery?

Surprisingly good.

Okay, well I’m not sure where to start then.

While you’re figuring it out, I have a question for you: How’s mommy?

You want the truth?

We do believe in that here.

She’s not good, baby. She misses you every minute. We all do. She has a job now and is working hard. But nothing can distract her from the fact that you weren’t supposed to die. You should have had a full, long life – gotten married and had children of your own. You should have been standing at our funeral… not us at yours.

I will be. Only I’ll be standing on this side holding your hand.

Is it wrong to say that I long for that day?

No, I get that. What about my sisters?

They miss you too, of course. We talk about you all the time when they come home from school. They seem to have found places and people that make them happy. When Jenna goes to college next year it will make it harder on us to have an empty nest because it will magnify the fact that it shouldn’t be empty. Mommy loves her little chicks.

I know.

But why ask me? Can’t you see all of that? I thought you would be looking down on us.

I am. But I see things differently now. I don’t see in part anymore; I see the whole. I don’t like that mommy is sad, but from here I understand just how truly short the time is until I’ll see her again… Life is a vapor. It’s like when I had a bad chemo day; we knew it was only temporary and I would feel better again. I just had to hold on.

Will you tell mommy to hold on for me?

I will. But it’s hard for us to think like you – from that perspective. We see your friends getting older and taller and it reminds us that you didn’t make it past twelve. You never got to grow up.

You should know that I did get taller.

What?

You do grow up here and my body is perfect now, remember. No cancer. No radiation or chemo to stunt my growth. I’m not the shortest in the family anymore!

You always wanted to be taller than mom.

(both laugh)

Oh. There’s the guy turning donuts in the field. He’s so happy, I wish you could see his smile.

Hey! You’ve been driving this whole time, haven’t you?

Um… Yes.

Then why did you let me give you a lesson when you didn’t need it?

I didn’t need it, Daddy. But you did.

Happy 15th Birthday, Baby. Oh, how I wish I could teach you to drive.

Deja Shoe

February 13, 2017.Reading time 5 minutes.

I had one of those déjà vu moments – déjà shoe actually – because I looked down at my shoes and had a fleeting thought that they had been exactly there before. Have you ever had one of those? They can feel so real and some would say that they are; there are spiritual and esoteric theories about the phenomena. Déjà vu has hit me over the years and I refuse to waste a lot of mental energy on the theory of it. After all, I only have so many synapses firing. If I try to analyze every thought of a previous thought that might or might not have been an actual thought, I would get stuck inside an internal Inception vortex from which I would never recover. I think of those moments as brain farts and move on.

Only at this particular moment, I knew for certain that I had been exactly in that spot. And I knew precisely when.

Science has various explanations for déjà vu. Besides my vaunted brain fart theory, this is the one to which I subscribe:

I would dumb that down for you, but when a statement uses the word parahippocampal, there is no dumbing down.

I love my new job. I love feeling like I am daily making a difference in the fight against childhood cancer – the mission I was given by Kylie. I work with an incredibly dedicated team who are great at what they do and all passionately devoted to the cause. They made me feel perfectly welcome from the day I started and not just because they needed me to lift heavy things and reach the high places. I have been there only four months, but in some ways, it’s like I’ve been there much longer.

And sometimes, I get to meet the kids and families who are in the middle of the fight. I see hope, fear, and angst in their faces as if it is written in indelible ink. I read them as only one who has lived their story can. Whenever I have the opportunity, I love being able to serve as I was served. I am always careful to not reveal my story because all I want to serve up is hope and encouragement.

This was what I was doing when I experienced my déjà shoe. I was serving when I realized I was standing in the very place where exactly two years prior, a huddle of doctors told me that Kylie’s cancer had spread beyond hope of treatment. I couldn’t look up at them anymore, I could only look down at my shoes. I will never forget that place. Four days later, she would be dead.

One might ask why… why would I put myself in a position to relive my pain and loss every day? I have gotten that question a few times and my answer is simple. I am a simple man, after all (ergo the brain fart theory). I reply that being at home is no easier – I drown in loss there, too. In fact, I have found no place to take my shoes where I am free. I can run but I cannot hide.

So, there I stood, looking at my shoes – wondering about the fact that two years ago I hated this view and now I love it. And I hate that I love it.

I awoke from my shoe reverie because a mother with deep creases of story written on her face needed me. We talked briefly. She smiled through a battle-weary fog. I returned her smile as I was taught by my girl and hope the encounter recharged her.

And somewhere in heaven, a little girl smiled down because she had led my shoes to exactly where they were supposed to be.