The Red Cushion
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It’s a hot August day. I’m working in the neighborhood, so I cruised on over to Vonda’s to sit on her front porch and enjoy my lunch in the shade. Each week I take care of the neighbor’s yard I’ve had for over 30 years and then I blow off Vonda’s curb, sidewalk, and drive.
We all grieve in different ways. It helps me feel closer to my old friend when I’m pretending she’s still there as I clear off the leaves for another week. Then I sit in my usual spot facing north, my burger and drink at my side. To my right sits an invisible Vonda on her red cushion, ready to chat as we did regularly.
It still feels strange to stare at the cushion and not see her sitting there. She was eternally young. Much like my two sons, she rarely uttered a critical word about anyone. Her advice was always sage. She was steady at a rock. I called her my hero and frequently told the nonagenarian so. I could only hope to be as positive and bright as she as she headed toward the century mark.
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Gifted with a servant’s heart, she became the chauffeur to her son as he became legally blind. Then recently she became the regular food getter when her daughter-in-law suffered a debilitating stroke.She truly was and is irreplaceable. Caregivers visit the son’s home, but Vonda helped fetch the bacon and bring it to their house. We say it’s not normal for a child to pass before the parent does; neither should a parent become the caregiver in her golden years, but as with many things in life, we may not have a choice. Life happens; we react. Love becomes action. Appropriately, her final act on this earth was a trip to pick up a fast food order for her family. She collapsed at the wheel of her car just before she reached her destination. God had a better one in mind for her.
Earlier in life she suffered the untimely loss of her husband. An attractive lady, inside and out, she said she never found anyone after that she really felt she wanted to marry. Vonda, as most widow ladies do, devoted the remainder of her time on earth to focusing on her family and how to serve them. There was no time for bitterness or regret. She faced each day with renewed optimism as she had the eternal hope of seeing her loved one again on high.
Even now as I’m munching on a Braum’s junior deluxe burger I keep expecting her to come out the front door and park it on the red cushion and proceed to say something that will brighten my day. Then I notice a flowering vine has started crawling up the back of Vonda’s wrought iron bench towering over the red cushion. It almost seems like she has come back to see me, this time as a flower. I don’t think she’d mind if I took some comfort in that thought.
By Dr. Juan Harrison
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