*
On my morning walk this morning I heard a rustle of leaves and was rather pleasantly startled to look over and see a Mini Pinscher puppy poised and staring at me, head cocked mischievously to the right.
Oh, God, this is a busy street, I am thinking. “Where did you come from?” I ask him. He darted back, through a hole in the fence.
I walked on.
Rustle of grass. Mini pin, back again.
“C’mon. You can’t play on this busy street, Sweetie. You’ll get squished.”
I consider carrying him to a side street, where I can knock on a few doors, find his real home.
As if reading my mind, he leaps, fakes me out, and darts back into the hole again.
I walked on.
I keep looking back for him, again and again, just in case. But he’s gone.
He must know where his Home is, even though I don’t.
*
His eyes are half closed and he is half-turned, this stunning white-blonde man. The contentment on his face is something I have never known, and I feel guilty disturbing him from it, but –
He turns to me. Tears are streaming down my face but the grapefruit that’s been blocking my throat for the past two weeks has shrunk to the size of an apricot. He looks so lovely; he smiles the kindest smile I have ever seen in my entire life, with sparkling blue eyes the color of the South Florida sky.
Me: I still look for you when I get home and… it’s like being stabbed.
He: Mmm. Yes.
He hugs me with strong, smooth arms enveloped by cool, white sheet sleeves and I cry into them and worry about the mascara stains and I tell him, and he laughs a little and hugs me tighter – big, white, safe arms.
I cry and cry and laugh a little because suddenly I think of him as a puppy, biting my grandmother with tiny teeth and a tiny growl to match, and she giggled.
Me: I spoke to Nannie yesterday and she told me she had a dream about you. She said Jesus was sitting in a chair and He called to you and patted his lap, and you sprung right up, all white and fluffy. But your hair was curlier. Does Heaven curl your hair?
He: (smiling) Only the angels’.
Me: Really?
He shrugs.
Me: Anyway, even though her memory fails her a lot, she remembered that you had been born with a gimp front leg. But in her dream your leg was perfect and you were wagging a lot.
He: Yes. My legs are strong as trees now.
Me: I miss you.
He: I am here. I am here.
He hugs me tighter and…
… I wake up.
*
On my walking path this morning, a man I had never seen before smiled and said, “Hello,” and startled me out of my thoughts of Woody. I looked up to the “Hello” and it was the face of the man-angel in my dream. Except his hair was white, not golden blonde, and he wore a yarmulke.
I ring my sister Jen the minute I get home.
“Woody is a Rabbi living in Delray Beach!”
I tell her about my dream and the man I saw on my walk.
“Uh-huh,” she says, carefully.
“Really! What are the chances of seeing the same man the next day?“
“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” she asks.
Bitch. Don’t pop my bubble.
“It was the eyes. The eyes were the same. Sky blue. They twinkled.”
“’kaaay,” she said.
*
Woody's Garden
