112 - After Our Son Died, He would Pop in to do the Funniest Things to Make Me Laugh

 

     Exhausted, I drove home after an agonizing day of attempting to teach. I flopped onto the Japanese floral futon and situated the two pillows from my bed behind me,  so I could partially sit up. I pulled in a couple deep breaths, my body soaking in the delicious heat from our sunroom. That day, for some reason, was a painfully agonizing, drawn-out day of trying to stay focused and in the present. It was only in the middle of the school year, and I was ready for June. That day felt like a heavy coastal fog had slowly crept in, shrouding my entire body, refusing to dissipate. Just like usual, depression had drained me of most of my energy. It was almost a year since our son had died of a heroin overdose, and yet there were still too many days; I was overtaken by depression and guilt.

    I pulled in a couple deep breaths, readying myself to meditate. Still, instead, guilty memories plodded through my brain: I was such a horrible parent, too hyper-focused and stressed with teaching, especially when I produced plays to help my son. Kyle, our son, had struggled with alcohol for about two years and then was introduced to heroin and passed away. Our daughter, Nicole, had escaped to a more peaceful life a year before her brother died.  

      I'm sure she had become tired of the worry and fear that was stuck in our house. Yes, I had noticed she had withdrawn, and she had stopped but even when I asked her doctor if I could sign her up for therapy and she told the doc that she was 'okay,' I shouldn't have listened. She stopped sharing her feelings and needs and seemed despondent. I was useless at making any decisions, and when I did make them, they were made out of fear, controlling my daughter's activities. She must have felt like a prisoner in her own home. Torrents of tears ran down my cheeks; my body shook uncontrollably as I gasped for air. Then out of nowhere, the spigot turned off, and I wiped the wet remnants away.

     I realized I was too exhausted to meditate; desperately, I needed a nap. I slipped down onto the futon, stuffed one pillow behind my head, closed my eyes, pulled the warm air through my nostrils, and expelled it through my mouth a few times to slow my brain down. Slowly, the taut ropes in my neck stretched like rubber bands, and my shoulders finally lowered into their unfamiliar position. My lead eyelids closed without a command.

      ZAP! I sat in a small aluminum boat, staring at Kyle's back. He turned around, still holding onto his fishing pole, and said glibly, "Hi Mom," then stared at me for a few seconds with this huge cocky smile. I returned the greeting as I watched him brush his blond bangs out of his eyes with his fingers. This wasn't the first time my son popped in for a magical journey. 

                                                  https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl          

      I looked around. It was a gorgeous sunny day, not too hot. We were in the middle of a lake surrounded by placid light turquoise blue water that emanated luminous sparkles. The lake looked more like an ice skating rink than a place to fish. Kyle seemed too antsy ever to want to go fishing while here on earth, so I asked, "What in the heck are you doing?"

     "Fishing for whales," he said in a curt voice and gave me this strange look as if I should have known this fact already and then turned around.

     Eyeing the small shiny aluminum dingy and his fishing rod with a reel, I lifted my eyebrows and remarked, "Really?" Since he was always a jokester, I decided to ignore his comment. That rod might be big enough to catch river fish, but anything bigger? Yea, right, I thought. Anyway, when was the last time anyone heard of a whale in a lake? I scanned the area again and noticed the gradual golden hills climbing out of the water. I swear, it definitely looked like we were at a lake.

      I was just about to refute his chances of catching a whale when all of a sudden, it looked as if metal rebar had been jammed up his spine. He jerked up hard on his pole a few times, but the tip stayed stationary, stuck in a bow-like position. "I got one!" He yelled excitedly and looked at me, grinning from ear to ear as if to tell me, Ha, told you so.

     Without warning, the boat jerked back and forth, so I grabbed onto the vessel's sides and planted my feet firmly against the hull for stability, not because I was paranoid of being thrown over, but because I disliked the deep cold water lake looked deep. Within a heartbeat, we lurched forward for a few feet, stopped, and then we rode a monstrous wave, and within seconds we were free-falling down into a gully. My heart wasn't beating a mile a minute, and my stomach wasn't tied up in knots. I wasn't even terrified that we could be catapulted into the deep water and either eaten by this giant fish or drowned. I knew that I was safe in this magic world with Kyle, journeying.

      The muscles were taut on my son's arms as he struggled to hold onto the rod, reeling the line in rapidly as he dropped the tip down. I was surprised that he seemed to know what he was doing. Hills of water rose in sections and crashed down upon us while another mountain rose even higher and bashed into the fields of rolling water. Finally, Kyle was able to jerk the pole back a few times past his head, and then he released the tension on the fishing rod. Quickly, he whipped the pole around, catching me off guard, but luckily I ducked, or I would have had a heck of a headache. A colossal wave rose in front of the dingy as if this monstrous whale was about to plop onto our little boat. Unconsciously, I snapped my eyes shut, waiting to be drenched in freezing water, but I opened them after I felt only a heavy spray of water on my body. Finally, the waves subsided, and magically the boat stopped rocking, so I unclamped my hands and relaxed my legs.

     Kyle spun his whole body around and stared at his feet. Following his gaze, I looked down, not realizing he had actually caught something. We both looked up at each other simultaneously, and bellows of infectious insane laughter peeled up from our bellies. My stomach muscles ached. It seemed like minutes had passed. Finally, I spoke through my giggles. "Wow! That's a whale of a fish," I said, attempting to sound impressed.

     The fish was about five inches long, effervescent white except along the transparent edges of the thin body. Kyle bent down, picked up the fish by its tail, gently plucked it off the hook, and said, "Yup, it sure is," as he tossed it back into the water.

   He grinned from ear to ear and cocked his head sideways, studying me for a second. "You okay, now?"

    I smiled, squinting as the brilliant rays from the sun seemed to be hugging him. I nodded. Instantly, I was transported back into the sunroom onto the futon. A flood of joyful tears rolled down my cheeks,  thankful that my son still bounced in whenever I was at my lowest lows.