Well, damn I am so sorry to hear about Joe. They certainly don’t make ’em like your dad. He was out here on the golf course every single Friday–for I don’t know? Years? Before he’d take your mom with him in the cart, but I guess when she got too sick, then he just came alone. He’d spend the whole day out here, you know? Going from wood duck box to wood duck box. I never did ask him how he started making these boxes. I just never thought to ask…He loved those birds. God, he kept a log book documenting the condition of each wood duck box, the number of eggs hatched, which ones were being visited by the birds, the ones that needed more cleaning…I just don’t think we have anyone that can take care of these birds and his boxes like your dad, Jodi.
Like my dad. The list of things that no one can do quite like my dad is just too long to share here. We don’t have enough time to recount all one liners, exasperated exclamations, and meticulously sometimes maddening behavior that is our Joe.
You see, our dad, he is dying.
And so, it would happen that last week a pregnant robin sat contently perched in a nest that could barely contain her expectant belly outside the kitchen window.
I have never seen a bird build a nest here. This is unbelievable. God, the universe, whatever is watching and listening to the happenings in this house of horrors. $100 says this young mother will give birth just as dad dies. I swear to God. This is right out of The Alchemist. It’s an omen.
Katie, Jaime, Meghan, Holly, whichever sister was helping me run the show at the little place we lovingly call The House of Horrors has seen the young mother too. A head shake and a smile follow such a noticing. Oh, how the appearance of this little bird has brought us comfort amongst all the grief. Always one with the sunshine and sparkle, sister Katie coined the phrase House of Horrors in response to the accidents, the amyloidosis, the Alzheimer’s, the sequence of events that confront us.
One of my old teacher friends, Ms. Jaffe used to say, “When confronted with a pile of shit, do you walk through it or around it? It seems like you often walk through it, Arndt.”
Oh, Shelia how you knew me well. So right now, we strap on our boots and wade through this pile of shit with an expectant robin doing her best to watch and wait to give birth. Until we are ready.
But are you ever ready?
The damningly beautiful, yet sad cycle of life.
So much love for you, dad.