the age of m i r a c l e s

I found it interesting that a b e a t i f u l lady's post prior to her teenaged son's funeral stated that she expected a m i r a c l e. That seemed to be the sort of thing one asked for prior to a death, not prior to a funeral. I guessed Mary could have expected the same.

See, I met this charming lady in a charming b o u t i q u e, during a magnificent Toms sale. Or so I thought. We chatted a bit, then realized that on an occasion we stood next to each other during a yoga Saturday at the Y. I remembered her toes. H a p p e n s t a n c e our same aged children were students when Carver commenced all day every day GT school year. Those p e s k y intelligent six graders.

We talked for about an hour on those couches at Alter'd State about: marriage, e d u c a t i o n, divorce, about being single parents, artists we both knew around town, dating, y o g a and shoes, specifically, Toms.

Of course we became fb f r i e n d s right then and there. Where had she been all of my Midland life?

Sometimes people just get into your spirit. It's a s u b t l e thing.

Our same aged children, I digress. Heavy s i g h...

S w e e t n e s s  rushed from her room during one of the last mornings before the end of school and announced, "Something is wrong with a boy!"

"Dear, what are you talking about?"

Her response reminded me to d e c i p h e r it later since it was chock full of... and on Ig, and then on Snapchat, and then someone texted.

WTH was she talking about?

The day continued.  That night I caught the news that Farmer Guy watched. I intentionally NEVER c a u g h t the news. There it was, and there it was. 

She. She and him. He laid in a hospital bed, while his mother raised praying, praising hands at his side.

The she that I never saw off line again. The she that I thought a couple of weeks earlier to ask if she wanted to blog on pictureless, but didn't.

All of the s u d d e n I felt it. I hadn't even known this person existed in my s p i r i t until that very moment. I don't know when it happened, but in the moment I felt that pain, I knew she was there.

I wanted her m i r a c l e for her. 

Even at the funeral I wanted her miracle for her. I didn't attend the funeral, but I did. With a Harry Potter book in hand and a cup a tea, I sat outside of the services across the street at the GMFL football field on the aluminum b l e a c h e r s top row. Yes, I lovingly stalked a funeral. I waited for the miracle.

White butterflies danced over grasses. The clouds made intricate figurines, none that spelled his name.

Nothing much to see here.  Keep it m o v i n g.

Tires screeched, and I saw two ginormous cutie pie dogs, one a chocolate lab puppy, jaunting around all unsupervised all Homeward Bound like. A young couple out for their mid morning outing  stopped their truck on a rescue mission of pets that clearly did not belong to them. P u p s went one way, and so did the couple. P u p s ran into the field, so did the couple. This went on and on and on. They spent the entirety of the service trying to c o r r a l the playful two into the back of their truck bed. Success.

I watched them calling the numbers on the tags, and utilizing the help of two boys passing through to complete the task. I became m e s m e r i z e d by the unfolding drama, and the lengths average people really will go to save the day.

Well NO miracles happened... I really expected to see, h e a r or feel something. I wanted to report to this beautiful grieving mother that a miracle did happen, but I sent her well wishes from aclose. Started for my car and ran into a lady I see every now and then. We chatted it up about k i s m e t.

Later that day while perusing the obituary for this young teen, it noted that he had a strong affection for saving stray animals. Tickled, I s m i l ed a bit and softened. I can say that the miracle, not grandiose restoring sight in nature, did in fact take place - a fifteen year old's miracle. 

Love