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“Okay,” I acknowledge. “Well, Mom has a sickness that never goes away. It’s different than a stomach bug, but it’s a sickness all the same. And just like how you couldn’t turn it off, neither can she.”
Luna’s brows draw together as she turns this concept over in her head, and I ask another question.
“Who took care of you when you were sick to your stomach?”
“Mom did,” she shrugs like it’s a given because it is.
“Well, Mom has days where her sickness isn’t so bad, and then she has days where it’s really horrible like your stomach flu, and when it is, who takes care of her?”
“Um…”
“She does,” I answer, still gently and non-accusatory. “She does it herself, and let me tell you, it gets exhausting for her to do that for herself sometimes, but she keeps doing it so she can be a good mom to you.”
Luna looks down at her lap and I start petting the back of her hair, trying to give her some comfort while I clarify what I mean.
“I’m not saying that to make you feel bad, kiddo. In fact, I think I’m wrong about one thing.”
“What?” she looks up eagerly while wiping a tear streak off her face.
“You do a heck of a job taking care of your mom by paying attention to when she’s have a rough time, doing all those little things you do to make her feel better, and by just plain being a good kid. Your mom is damn lucky to have you; I just want you to understand that you’re lucky to have her, too.”
Luna sniffs and a couple more tears make an appearance.
“She’s the best mom in the whole world,” her voice trembles. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset at her.” She squeezes her eyes shut and drops her head in shame. I hop off the tailgate and get in front of her so that she can see how serious I am with what I’m about to say.
“Hey, it’s okay, sweetie. You were frustrated, and it’s more than okay to feel things like that. It’s normal and healthy to get upset at the situation. Just so long as you and Mom know you’re there for each other, no matter how you’re feeling, okay?”
She wipes her eyes and nods before lifting her arms, which I now know is her signal for a hug. I oblige with no hesitation, lifting her all the way off the tailgate and into my arms.
“I love you, Ben,” she murmurs into my shoulder, and though it gives me a little shock, it quickly dissolves into a warmth that disperses through my body.
“You know what, I love you too, kid,” I grumble back. “What do you say we do something to make your mom feel better? I thought maybe we could cook her dinner. What do you think?”
Luna nods as a soft smile pulls at the sides of her mouth.
“What does she like?”
“She likes every kind of pasta,” she answers, her goofy spirit coming back.
“Great! So, how about we give her some time to relax today while we go check out the zoo or something and then we’ll go to the store and pick some things out she might like, and we’ll take it home and make it for her. It’ll be fun.”
“Okay,” she giddily agrees, scurrying to the cab of the truck.
As we walk up to the grocery store entrance, I see a van from the local Humane Society parked in the fire lane out front, and a couple of employees are just starting to open the back cargo doors.
Luna and I walk through the automatic doors and grab a cart to start perusing the aisles. I let Luna grab whatever she wants to make, and she fills the cart up with penne, bowtie, angel hair and fettucine, as well as marinara, alfredo and pesto sauces. She’s sure to get garlic bread and some ice cream called Phish Food.
As we’re walking back out to the parking lot, the Humane Society van is gone, and lining the sidewalk are an array of cages housing various dogs, big and small, young and old, a couple of cats, and at the very end, a cage with five tiny mewing kittens that immediately put a spell on Luna. I swear I see her eyes turn into hearts as she darts over to the enclosure and starts fawning all over them.
“Awwwwwww! They’re so cuuuuute!” she exclaims, crouching down and sticking her fingers through the bars to try to touch them wherever she can.
“Would you like to hold one?” A lady in a t-shirt with the society’s logo on it asks, and Luna eagerly nods.
“Can I hold this one?” She points to the tabby kitten that’s got its tiny paws hooked on the cage rungs and is meowing up at her.
“Of course,” the employee affirms, opening a small door at the top of the cage and reaching in. She grabs the little kitten and hands it to Luna who eager takes him in both hands and cuddles him to her chest. “That one’s a boy. He’s eight weeks old and is ready for a home. He’s already neutered in case you’re considering adoption, Dad,” she addresses me, looking up at me with a salesman’s smile that I barely notice because I have an electrical current shooting through my chest and all my extremities in response to what she just called me.
Luna doesn’t seem to notice as she’s too enthralled with cuddling the adorable kitten, and the look on her face is priceless. Her smile is warm, content, excited, and so full of joy. It’s like this little creature is healing her. Working in the medical field, I’ve known pet therapy to be a thing, but seeing it in action with someone I care so much about is turning me into a helpless idiot. She giggles as the kitten nudges his tiny head under her chin and looks happy to be in her arms.
