Photograph

I came across some old photographs while cleaning this weekend, including one of my daughter Alyssa, looking very thin but smiling wide, standing in front of my old blue Chrysler.

The picture is not dated, but she was twelve then I believe. She was recovering from a very serious bout with appendicitis.

That was my first lesson that you cannot trust doctors with your health. She went to the hospital on Monday to check her appendix. An intern gave her Tylenol and diagnosed her with the flu and sent her home. After repeated calls by her Mother they agreed to admit her again on Thursday for more tests. This time she got to see the specialist and his diagnosis took five minutes: "She has a burst appendix. Prepare her for surgery, now."

Alyssa was so weak and thin we thought might lose her. During the stay in the hospital I tried to cheer her up, but Dad's silliness was not what she wanted. She could not be comforted unless her mother was by her side, holding her hand.

I don't know how we could have traveled so far from the lessons of that year, that love and kindness are what matters. Everything else is a diversion.

When Alyssa got home and was feeling better she and I had the same thought one friday afternoon - we should visit the animal shelter. There we found puppy Bud, who was on the last day of his stay at the shelter.

Whenever I think of the happiness of those years, it always has to do with walking with Bud and Alyssa and Amy on the Greenbelt. Sometimes Janet would join us. I remember the night we all went down after dark late in June, to see the fireflies next to the cattail marsh, flying above the tall meadow grasses.

I scanned the picture and mailed it to Alyssa. I went over and held the box of Bud's ashes, and read again the quotation upon it:

"no matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you, and not even the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail."