Something Wild Calls You Home

Chapter One

The biodegradable urn is carefully lowered into the sizable hole in the backyard as I watch. A sapling Sycamore is gently set atop the urn. Sycamores symbolize protection and hope. I'm numb as our gardener, Gerald, finishes the planting, shoveling fresh soil over the tree's roots and giving it a drink from the hose.

I'm in my body and not in my body. I should be crying. I want to be crying. It would in the very least release this horrible buildup of wrenching pain in my heart. There should be loud resounding sobs. But I haven't cried since the night I received the call from the hospital informing me that my dad's fight was over. My dad. My rock. My friend. He's gone. No more wild tales of his childhood. No more amazing life advice. No more belly laughs at silly-awful dad-jokes. But I still can't cry. No tears are left. All dry.

I've already handled all the necessities of his affairs. The bank account closure, life insurance notification, calls made to relatives and friends. Through it all my eyes have remained dry. I felt as though I should be sobbing. It seemed to throw everyone I spoke to a bit. Like they expected me to be in tears, and I wasn't. It makes me feel broken and cold.

Dad hadn't wanted a casket, or funeral, and no gathering for a service or memorial. He wanted it quiet and simple. He wanted everyone, at the most, to raise a glass to him, remember him with a smile, and then to go on with their lives, living them to the fullest. Known for always being prepared, he'd made a short video relaying his goodbyes and final wishes. He'd tasked me with sending this video message out to his friends and our relatives.

The Sycamore planting was the last of it. I watch as Gerald gathers his tools and loads them into the back of his truck. He comes over to me, giving me a bear hug and resting a kiss on the top of my head. No words are needed. Gerald and his wife Paula have been around for as long as I can remember, even before I lost my mom. They're kind of my surrogate grandparents. He tends to the grounds, and she tends to the house. I grew up with their hugs and comfort. They took care of me when Dad had needed to take trips for his job. I knew well what each kind of hug meant. There was a hug for scraped knees, hurt feelings, rotten days at school...and this hug. Reserved for the aftermath of death. I hadn't felt this one since my mom had died when I was nine.

Wiping the dirt from her hands onto her skirt, Paula wraps her arms around me too. After a moment, the two of them slip away and wander off to mourn in their own way, on their own. They know me well. They know this is how I need it to be.

I stare at the young tree, the way the breeze plays in its leaves. I kiss my fingertips and lay them against the bark. "I love you, Daddy. Sleep sweet." I whisper, letting my hand fall away from the little Sycamore. I stuff my hands in my coat pockets. It's winter and it's so cold out. I'm so very cold, clear to my core.

Dad is a Sycamore and Mom is a Willow. They stand about fifteen feet from each other. Far enough apart so that they can grow. Close enough so that they may touch branches. Mom and Dad were so in love. Always in love. Every moment of their time together.

I need to sleep. I never knew a person could feel so hollow.

***

The music floats around me softly, cradling me, trying to sooth my aching heart. The sun sifts through the curtains. It's amber and warms my back where I lay curled up on my side hugging a Squishmallow goat tightly to my chest, trying to quell the empty hollowness. The soft pressure is the only thing that takes even the smallest bit away. I breathe in. I breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Remembering the mind quieting technique I'd learned in meditative journeying. I desperately need to visit that place it always takes me. I need to see my cave, my woods, my beach, and the man that sometimes waits for me there.

I grew up under the guise that space was the final frontier. But I know better. Not only does time not work the way people presume, but there's what could be infinite timelines, universes, and life-tracks. And there's a way to get there...and for them to get here.

Behind my eyelids I see the familiar swirling, undulating lush purple and deep blue. Gold and orange sparks and flares along the edges. It moves around me, recedes, and swirls gently before it widens, fades, and opens like a doorway. I'm now in a golden meadow of tall grass. A warm breeze causes it to wave and sway. My skin warms at its touch. A puppy, brown and white, some kind of terrier, its ears flapping, bounces through the field, runs past me on the right. On my left, I see motion, and then a shaggy-haired boy of five, or perhaps even seven, bounds through the tall growth after the puppy. 

I can't hear him. There's no sound. But I know he's giggling, laughing joyously. He stops in his pursuit and turns to look at me. His face is lit up; he's exuberant, glowing with happiness and freedom. I can hear his elated laughter in my head, but his mouth only moves into a wide jubilant grin. He's been running and playing so hard that he's flushed and panting. His eyes sparkle and dance. He's absolute joy and elation. So much that it can't remain contained within him, and it travels to me in waves. Along with the words, "Sunshine and lemons."

He doesn't speak, but I can feel his words. They're in my mind, but not spoken words. Just a knowing. A clear message sent straight into my heart and head. One word is there first, "YEAHHHH!" The word is drawn-out and full of so much. The boy bites his lip as if the happiness he feels just cannot be held within him, it's too big. His head bobs up and down happily, and his grin widens from ear to ear. 

That one word, it's everything I need to know. I smile. A tear slips from my eye. So many words and feelings and thoughts. None of it matters. Nothing he had before matters. He loves me. He loves his family and his life, but this is everything. He's free. He's not sick here. He can run. There are no worries. No sickness. No weakness. I hear him laugh. This time it reaches my ears. It fills my heart. My soul. I feel his love for me crashing into me. He gives me an even bigger smile before he turns and continues the pursuit of his puppy. He has a puppy here. Dad is free now and he has a puppy. I watch him bound after it gleefully. He doesn't turn back but continues through the amber waves, following the bouncy little dog into the woods. One word remains, soft and floating on the air to me.

"Let go."