she wants to get to
know me better
My father has a display of the three wise monkeys in his garden. It is his place of peace. In the garden, there is a fountain — water flows rhythmically from the fountain’s mouth. A gush of purity envelops its passersby. My father is meticulous in his efforts to instill a sense of calm and undying appreciation for nature in us — me and my siblings. We gather at his feet, adorned in the mellifluous breeze from the flowers, captured by his tales of the dark & weary.
He looks much older than his age. His wiry gray hair stands on his head. He shuffle-kick walks — his whole body shakes. A dance of convulsion springs forth. He is a quiet man. A man who doesn’t mind letting the air speak for him.
We listen. We want to become pure, like the surrounding air.
My father was a letters man — he delivered letters to widows. Letters their loves left behind but never shared. He had been their “Go-to Guy” for giving them one last moment of happiness. Thirty years of this and one day, he stopped.
He had been ordered by the City of Hernadin to cease and desist. Love was no longer in. No one could receive it. No one could give it. My father, the hopeless romantic, hard-loving man, could not grasp this concept. He continued his efforts in secret.
On a quiet, black-sky day, a hired hand attacked my father. The Mayor had enough of his deviance. They cut out my father’s tongue, cut off my father’s ears, and gouged out his eyes.
He didn’t fight back. No, he remained genteel, my father. If he had eyes, he’d cry. If he had a tongue, he’d wail. If he had ears, he’d tune in to the assailant’s actions during this stripping of himself. Instead, he’d laid alone in his own blood on the cold concrete and waited for the pain to end.
You may think how do I know all of this if my father cannot verbally tell me. He’s an artist. He sits in the solace of his garden and creates. He sketched every account — every gruesome detail and bid us utter silence. We were to never speak of it again. And I haven’t until now.
You see, my father is dying. His last request is that we bury him under the three wise monkeys, the cold of the sooty dirt piled upon his pine-boxed coffin drenching his spirit. He has written every detailed order of action and has labeled each with one of our names.
I have the spirited task of bathing his body. A ceremonial bath with the heads of tulips, roses, and lilies followed by the lighting of incense and sage is first on the list. We will sing his favorite songs and eat his favorite fruits.
My sister is tasked with praying over his body as he’s lowered into the unforgiving ground. She will chant as we throw gritty handfuls of clay onto his coffin.
My brother is tasked with singing a hymn, one of his choosing, while he plays the harp. It can be the harp only. No other music will accompany this ensemble.
When all of this is complete, we will lead the guests away from the burial site and find our way back to my father’s garden.
We will share his stories. We will cry. We will remember the man he was and be thankful for his blood.
Three weeks from his funeral, I am also tasked with lapidifying the flower garden. Per my father, “When my last breath meets the sky, I will turn flowers to stone.”
It’s the one thing I don’t want to do.
But I will. Because of my father.
A chance–I had to take a chance once again, so I readied myself last Friday and put in for transfers to three different departments within our organization. Apprehensive and fearful of what could actually take place, I had to trust the experience. We have lost so many team members to other jobs–places where they can feel *safe* at home while they work–places that enrich their lives as well as allow them to continue to give remarkable care to our patients. I am taking a chance again. Each job is a remote or work-from-home position. One department, two of my former team members have recently made their home, and one (former team member) . . . decided to put in a good word for me with the direct hiring manager.
An email came today. An introduction to who she is and what she does, after I submitted my resume and cover letter at my former team member and friend’s request. We scheduled a phone interview which is for tomorrow at 12:15 pm, US, EDT. I am excited, but I am also scared. I believe it’s a good scared, though. I informed my direct supervisor of my actions as the transfer will include her signing off and approving my actual resignation or notice if I am hired for this position. I am thankful for this gift–this blessing. When you work hard and do the job you’re supposed to do, people recognize it. They put in a “good word” for you. They speak to your strengths and what you can offer that particular company.
I am happy I had someone on the other side vouching for me.
this could be the change
light at the end of tunnels
God’s making a way
But not too far away
We have become digital personas trapped behind the screens, typing or tapping frantically away to our loved ones. They are doing much of the same. Many of us are still fearful of sticking our toes into the waters; restrictions are slowly being lifted across the nation (and the globe), but the Coronavirus, COVID-19 still thrives. At every turn, this virus shapes and shifts into something our scientific professionals and honorable doctors cannot get a handle on — it’s much more intelligent in its development than they predicted or assumed.
My mother’s birthday was on Monday, September 14, 2020, and although I slipped some cash in a beautiful card to her, I wanted to do something more. I planned to do something more. I am hoping this event will be an enjoyable one for both of us. I jumped into the AirBnB booking lifestyle and commenced to researching properties and Superhosts — eager to find a safe space for my mom and me to stay for one night.
I wanted the place to be conveniently located to various eateries, parks & trails, and have a decent to an outstanding view of the mountains. My love for Asheville, North Carolina showed its face and I decided this would be the perfect place to take my mom. She has never been and I had stated years ago, we would go together, but during a global pandemic, was not what I had in mind. The two of us have not been able to be around or with each other, as we are so accustomed and I focused on how we could have fun yet stay safe — this seemed the most plausible.
I decided on The Pisgah Room at River Row Flats which is an extremely accommodating suite complete with twenty-eight amenities and is also pet-friendly. Jernee is sure to have a ball too. Our adventure will begin on Saturday, September 26, 2020 at my place, then we will drive to Asheville on Sunday, September 27, 2020 and our impending shenanigans will last for one day only.
While, I have had fun video-chatting, sending text messages to my friends, writing letters, and emailing loved ones regularly, my mom does not have the luxury of being submerged in digital life. She is a hands-on type of person and would rather not venture into the world of technology. She doesn’t even own a computer and is still struggling to find her way around the smartphone I gifted her almost two years ago. I wanted to usher in a sense of comfort for her, but one of safety too.
This, I hope will be our adventurous undertaking during what many has called “unprecedented times.” We are sticking our toes in, one by one, but we do not intend on having our entire feet — let alone our bodies completely submerged.
Safety measures are in place at the suite and my complete itinerary greeted me in my email Friday evening. We will carry our face masks with us, Lysol wipes, our own bottled water, bedding & pillows, and just have as much fun as we can without being around anyone other than a friend or two of mine (social-distancing, of course).
I’m a bit frightened to get out in the open a bit, but I know how I am. I have limitations and my mom and Jernee are my top priorities.
But, damn it! We’re going to have some fun. Safely, though. Safely.