I Wait For You

My home is different. At the top of the stairs, I wait for you, Willy. I wait for you to make the climb, one step at a time, with your endearing smile that is so much better than me. Your smile never complains, it doesn't dwell in sadness the way I do. It is happy just to see me. Just to be together.

If you were here, you would snap me out of this maudlin state, Willy. You would sit beside me and insist that I type and pet your head simultaneously. You never realized how tricky that was. Now, as I type, my fingers move quickly but they are lost. There is so much that I should be writing about but right now there is only you. I have a lost chapter that I must redeem but there is only you.

I wait for you as I stare up at the sour cream cake sitting on my counter (Kara made it in memory of you). I wait for you to nod up to the counter every so often, to remind me that there is more to life than writing. There is food. Delicious food, decadent food, an endless supply of food in this massive kitchen of ours. I wait for you to remind me of how lucky I am to live in a place where food is bountiful. But I do not hunger for this right now, Willy. There is only you.

I gaze out of my window and the sun is shining. It makes an otherwise chilly Monday lighter, easier to manage. I wait for you to hassle me with your pleading smile and furry self that has become restless. You want to take a walk to the orchard, I know. I wait for you to shake some more hairs onto my new hardwood floor, enough hairs to aggravate Jim because, inevitably, I will neglect a few strays. I cannot keep up with your hair, Willy, but now I want it back. I want it back on my black clothes, on my expensive coats and, yes, on my glorious new floor.

If you were here, we would go to the orchard. You would pull me that way, down Benoni, left onto Trilliam, and a quick right. Due to the weather, we would possibly pass a few leashed dogs that you would snub. I think if you gave Charlie (the peppery little shitzu) a chance, you would have liked him, Willy. But in your mind, not all dogs are created equal and because you are a dog, you do not have to be politically correct. You can own your opinion and think it without saying it.

You remind me of how sometimes it's better to think simply, to not have to analyze so much.

Later, I will pick Benjamin up from school and I will wait for you to sniff his backpack then sit on your rug. I will wait for you to stay fixed in your beg pose, oblivious to the unraveling of papers, binders, questions, and exuberant tellings of the school day. You won't care much about Benjamin's day, only his snack, followed by his boundless energy to prepare himself for the outdoors. I'll wait for your muddy paws on the way back in, for the dog prints on my floor that mark your steady journey to the bone closet. My floor is much too clean now, Willy.

Later tonight, I'll wait for you to curl up on your bed so that I can cover you. Jim will be there with you, working on his computer at the couch. You will snap up every so often to sit beside him and he will cover you one last time before he retires. You do not understand these computers, only that they mark a relaxing time when your family is present and ready to connect with you.

You remind me of how important it is to touch, to stay connected to each other without these keyboards.

Even though you're gone, we are connected, Willy. Your spirit is a gentle reminder for me to be happy, to live in the moment, and to not think so much.

I understand, Willy. I'm through tapping away at my keyboard for awhile.

Sour cream cake or a walk to the orchard? Alright, you win. We'll have a section of each.