Eleven

If I were at the Crap Tables in Vegas and I needed a number to get me through, I'd want to roll an 11. And almost a year ago, I didn't know if 11 was going to come around for him. He was in the early stages of what would prove to be a struggle for his mere existence. What were these "hiccups" and untimely changes in his behavior that summoned in me a inauspicious warning? For us "mortals" to be strapped with the "C" word often beckons fear, anger, frustration, despair, and a whole host of emotional retreats. But when that "C" word is given to our best friend, those emotional retreats are not just doubly compounded, but we begin that inevitable bargaining with God. How many rosaries can I say...do You want me to promise to attend Mass every day....I'll never speak disparagingly of Aunt Bertha again...I promise I'll never cuss or look at a Playboy magazine again. But I've learned that I can't "bargain" with God, He's going to call all the shots from here on out and actually has been calling them from Day 1. I know that strength comes from not just within but from the outside as well. No, I don't think it fair the "C" comes to humans, but even more so to my best friend. It's a curious mark that he be straddled with this. I do ask myself "why"? His whole life is centered around me and why must he be given such a test? Or, is it me that's been given the test? Jesus once said, "come to me all you are labored and burdened, and I will give you rest". I am asking Him now to give me rest and strength during this time. I'm asking my angel that on this day next year, I can post: "Twelve".
In the meantime, Happy 11th Birthday Dancer...thank you for 11 of the best years of my life.

95

I'm having a talk with him now as I sit eating my bowl of mixed berries. I invited him for breakfast but as usual he'd rather get one of his breakfast sandwiches from Hardees. It's not a particular discerning conversation but it's one of substance, or I'd at least like to believe it that way. We kicked around when he was last in the hospital and time was fleeting for him. He wasn't particular to the hospital food so I would bring him those fat induced, grease filled, artery clogging sandwiches. He remembered going there with "Whiskers" in tow and they would venture to Oak Knoll Park, he sitting on the bench reminiscing about life and missed opportunities or failed ventures; "Whiskers" off chasing squirrels. We didn't have many of these while I was growing up and most of the time they were particularly one sided....he talked and I had to listen. I'm looking at him across the table from me and we're square up-eye to eye. But, I'm calling on him now as I want his comfort. I want to lay my head in his lap and above all, I need his embrace. I want him to tell me it's going to be alright. I want him to tell that he had direct contact with Jesus and He said my little boy is going to pull through this. I want to him to use whatever pull he has in heaven to make this disease go away. I'm hoping that he had coffee with Jude and Francis for I know they have influence of lost causes and animals and that with their influence as being long time tenants and most importantly have prime real estate in that section of heaven where all the creatures of God's kingdom frolic and play and that they're not ready for one more. I want them to tell me my loan has been extended and I can keep him longer.

Dad, please put in those good words for my Dancer, and oh, by the way....Happy 95th!! The breakfast sandwich is on me. Thanks for listening. But somehow, I think you knew that.
PS, tell Mom I love her!
Your loving son,