Tuesday, January 12, 2010
I lost control of perspective here with unforgiving color pencil. But the torment remains. Picasso's woman with dead child. Here is where I grew up, here is where my youngest resided. My sister passed on before I was born, a hole in her heart and pneumonia. I learned to grieve prior to being born. There were several occasions that I nearly lost my own son. At 2 1/2 weeks he had pneumonia, spent a week at Loyola after coughing up blood. When the doctor saw him,that afternoon she said speed, if you get pulled over use the escort. Time was essence and an ambulance would take too long. His oxygen was compromised and lips turning blue. Never did losing him cross my mind, but it crossed everyone else's. How can a mother get out of bed after a dead child? Then, on his second birthday, as guests were arriving he swallowed a nail. Hospital personal thought I was an overactive player till x-rays showed proof of my complaint. The nail had passed critical and diagnosis was to pass it. Three days of diapers and asparagus and celery, before it was safe to travel again. But then years pass, unwarranted fears of oxygen loss, his mind full of creativity and illusions, his intelligence way above normal, bored with age level of learning. Another near loss as he tunneled in our deep snow drifts, Ojo was there to dig him out when his tunnel collapsed. I've been often questioned why I have kept an unreliable dog as Ojo hated men. No human being is more deserving of my gratitude as our best friend Ojo Ajuda. He's losing time very quickly now, but he will never be forgotten. A rescued dog saved my child. Is there anything more beautiful to imagine?