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“Colin, wait—”
He reaches his hand out, offering his carrot to Tenor in the stall. Tenor's ears flick forward as he straightens. I want to intervene, but Colin just seems so sure of himself. No fear in his proud stance.
You can't be afraid. Every day there is life. Every day there is death.
Confidently holding the carrot out, he waits until Tenor takes a step forward. Tenor never approaches the door when people are in the barn. The simple visual of him this close to another person is mind-blowing to me.
I watch as they seem to speak without words. There's an understanding between the two of them I just can't intercept. Tenor gently takes the carrot and Colin removes his hand from the stall with a nod. No expectations for more. Just satisfied with the simple exchange.
“Time to eat,” he says in his signature robotic tone, turning to walk towards me. “I want to eat now.”
I stare in disbelief while he approaches me as I catalog this moment, being as significant as it is.
Such an amazing soul, trapped in this shell that society tells us to separate from the rest of us. Clumping him into a category of illness that is supposed to encompass him. Someone that people as simple-minded as Eric will never understand, nor should he be lucky enough to. He can't conform. He shouldn't. Colin is everything. He's needed. Needed to make the people around him open themselves to a new perspective. A childlike view of the world around him. Simple and to the point.
He has no idea how much this moment will change me. Shit, I have yet to understand it.
I swallow down my fears that seem a little easier to handle now. A few simple words from a man who's anything but simple.
“The best goodbye,” I reiterate.
Wrapping my arm around Colin's shoulders, we walk back towards the house with a new attitude. Not one filled with sadness and sorrow, but a new appreciation for the time we have now.
Goodbyes are coming.
Death is around the corner.
But today, no one is looking.
Not today.
53
Dylan
Theillusionoftypicalfamily dinners is something I'm used to.
Watching cable television growing up helped me visualize the idea, and seeing it represented in comedic shows that always had some sort of underlying inspirational message about love and family and togetherness is what I became accustomed to. What I haven't seen was this exemplified in real life.
Everything about this family dinner, and this home in general, is idyllic. The earthy tones in the colors of the walls, paired with the family portraits, hung in warm-toned wooden frames. There is so much life within these walls, and the love that permeates them has never been more present.
The space opens up like a log cabin. The living room is centered around an enormous slate stone fireplace that reaches the ceiling, while windows everywhere give way to the view of the rolling fields behind us.
Dinner was already here. They had it catered by a local family restaurant instead of cooking. She wasn't happy about it. According to Lake, cooking family meals for the three of them was Lydia's favorite part about the holidays. But that wasn't an option anymore.
Lydia was a complete gem of a woman, caring and nurturing in nature, and you could tell her illness limited her in ways that made her uncomfortable. I immediately stepped in and lent a helping hand to serve the dinner that was delivered in large tin foil wraps, much to her dismay.
She was sick. Really sick. It was clear her body was dying, but the life inside of her lived on.
Her humor, her love for her son, her smile...none of that has faded.
I watched them interact at the table as we enjoyed our meal over light conversation. She squeezed Lake's hand while he spoke about the prospect of him returning to the game sooner rather than later. Gazing lovingly at him, as proud of a mother as you could ever imagine, he told her about the first day we met. She scoffed as he explained his moody, nightmarish attitude and laughed when he told her how I put him in his place that first day. She sighed with an endearing smile as he described the Special Olympics, where he met Colin for the first time.
“Colin, do you love football as much as Lake?” she asks.
“More,” Colin says, finishing a bite of his mashed potatoes.
Lydia laughs as she leans back in her chair, and Lake grins at him from across the table.
