God hears my heart and feels its cries. It’s a wonderful notion – miraculous really, even if it was nothing more than a wishful sentiment. There are a lot of more serious problems in the world, so I understand that God touching a single man is just not reasonable to me. Tomorrow is just another day to make that money (chase that bag) for my family, specifically my children, I’m a warrior.
Once, my daughter asked me if I wanted to talk to my three-year-old granddaughter, Ada (lefty to me). I didn’t answer immediately because I was trying to consider the question and wondering at the same time why I was hesitating.
For a split second, I couldn’t remember her name. Then, I was fully confounded – fully flummoxed – as the realization oozed from somewhere that I didn’t know or remember how to speak to a three-year-old. It was my gift to be able to connect with kids and it seemingly had been deconstructed, swept away by the wind and evaporated into the fog.
On Lisa (a lawyer) and Richard Corey’s porch, I sat with my back to the house enjoying the warmth of the sun, despite the overcast sky. I cried over the loss thinking maybe a good cry would help. My chest was giving up the dissolving will to buck up. I was letting go.
Looking to the sky before I gathered myself, the sun bursted (truly for me) from behind the clouds, as if the words, “I’m here my friend, got you.” were spoken.
I went the next day to the dementia walk dressed in my “I love dementia” tomato costume. As the crowd walked by, a little girl of color came up to me and said, “hi there.” I waved coyly and wondered why I was full of not warmth, but rather light. God said to me, “It will be fine.”