Alex

A single tear ran down her cheek. A meandering stream, cutting a wandering path. With a crooked finger, I wiped it. It lay there upon my finger: A single bead of water, salty, translucent. Silvery it was, mercurial as happiness doomed to fade. Like her tanned skin, it glistened in the blazing sunset, reflecting the light of her soul.

I took her hand. Gently gripping it, I tried to convey comfort. A light squeeze was returned. Resting my hand on her thigh I looked out over the lake. The placid water gently rippled where a fish swam, unheeding of our presence: Blissfully unaware of the somberness as it meandered in the coolness seeking sustenance upon the surface.

Birds sang in the trees behind us. I was reminded of the old Hank Williams song. I hummed the tune, mentally singing the heart wrenching, yet apropos lyrics: "Hear that lonesome whippoorwill..., he sounds too blue to fly..." I thought to myself I would not let her become too lonesome to cry. I would be there for her. Together we would get past this. A train whistle echoed mournfully in the distance. The sound like a death knell.

Raising my hand from her thigh, I placed it over her shoulder, cradling her protectively against my side. Sliding just the few inches over on the park bench upon which we rested, she nestled her head into the crook of my shoulder. My heart went out to her, clenching like a fist in my chest. My breath caught for a moment as I stifled the urge to cry. As if she could feel my momentary distress, she gripped my knee.

Together we looked West over the water. The sky was on fire with the setting sun. It's beauty was reflected on the water. The soft glow reminded me of him. His spirit, his grace. I thought how it symbolized the end of an age. Perhaps it would also symbolize the rising of a new as the Phoenix arises from the ashes of it's own demise. If only the same could be true of Alex.

Alex, our wonderful boy, had loved this lake. Here he had learned to swim at six years old. Here he had caught his first fish; laughing with delight as I fumbled and dropped it on the grass trying to remove the hook. He had swung in the playground, reaching for the unattainable sky as his little legs pumped, face alight with delight. Climbed the monkey bars, swinging across like Boy on a Tarzan movie. I chuckled as I remembered how he had fallen that first time. Plummeting to the ground as my heart plummeted to the bottom of my stomach. Alex had jumped up and immediately ran back to the ladder, dark hair blowing behind him, his laughter singing out an optimistically happy melody to the universe.

I saw a small, wistfully sad smile on my beautiful Amber's lips. I knew she was also picturing our beautiful boy laughing as he ran, played, fished, and swam here. This had been his favorite place in the world. A gentle breeze stroked our skin, lightly, just a feather touch. We both leaned our heads up as the memory of our son stroked us one last time. One final goodbye. A robin began singing, bullfrogs joining in with a bass undertone. After a moment the crickets and ciccadas joined the chorus. In the dusky park nature's symphonic orchestra played a farewell concert in honor of Alex.

I don't know why the lord had to take Alex at only eleven years old. Cancer is a horrible thing. But, I'm sure God has a plan..., even if I don't understand or necessarily agree. In silent agreement we stood simultaneously. One last look over the rippling, calm waters where we had sprinkled our little boy's ashes. Quiet tears ran down both our cheeks, dried by the breeze. There was no need to say a word. Turning in tandem we headed home. We would persevere. For Alex. For his little sister, nestled there, ensconced safely in Amber's uterus. We would bring little Leyliana here for picnics.